


Good for you. I hope you choke on it.

by foxesinthevoid



Category: Dark Deception (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Child Murder, Christian Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Other, Poisoning, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxesinthevoid/pseuds/foxesinthevoid
Summary: Helen Bierce had carved out a niche for herself as a darling of the silver screen in the 1930s, highly sought after by most movie studios, her every demand given in to in order to secure her as the lead in a high budget film. Despite her status and notoriety, Bierce has begun to hire individuals considered to be experts in ancient artifacts, cartography, and navigation for seemingly no reason. Bierce has taken this single year off from starring in films and furthering her career, devoting all of her time to finding an ancient ring, claiming that it will solve all of her problems. Only those on her research team know of this goal, as she wishes to be considered sane by the rest of the world once she returns to her successful career. However, the journey to find the Riddle of Heaven will not be an easy feat, as nobody truly knows if it exists. Bierce knows that her time is limited, and without the ring, her fate will be sealed. Bierce must attempt to keep her composure while her time runs out, and build relationships with those important in her search for her ring. Without them, her soul will be forfeit to a demon.
Kudos: 9





	1. It could be the answer I've been looking for.

(Story art commissioned from [AnaLuizaCG](https://www.deviantart.com/analuizacg). An amazing artist. Check her out.)

Tibet was the first stop in her daring search, the snowcapped mountain peaks glinting in the sunlight as her plane came in. Wrapped in a scarf, sunglasses, a rather fashionable, for the time, black coat. To think back on the entire affair was laughable. To think that her clothing was what she cared about presenting to the world, instead of the remarkable power she sought. But she had been naïve, regardless of the heinous acts she had committed to land herself in this position. With Edgar’s considerable fortune now in her name and a team of brains behind the search she was on, she had no reason to worry. To think she would fail was as humorous back then as her previous fashion sense was to her now.

Searching for something that had no real concrete evidence of even existing was rather exhausting, though those she employed usually did the footwork. She did not want to risk those accompanying her coveting the ring for themselves, and with the power she had received from Malak, any authorities in the countries she frequented in her search would find no issue with her traipsing around in ancient, holy sites. How stupid that had been in hindsight. How shortsighted and blind she had been to walk blindly into places that did not end up producing the ring when all was said and done. Ramona, the lead researcher in Bierce’s repertoire, had often scolded her for these misgivings. She had guessed correctly that Bierce was blinded by her desperation to find a solution to her problem, to take care of the contract she had made. Either that, or she had completely slipped off the deep end.

Bierce had no clue which of these two factors were true herself, having sold her soul to a demon. To think that Ramona had even taken the job was rather strange until one considered that she was an academic professional in a world that did not much value women working in most fields. As well, the depression had sunk in, and a job under one who claimed to have dealt with a devil was still a paying job. Bierce did appreciate this, as most would have run away. On this trip to Tibet, Ramona was one of the only individuals she allowed to accompany her on this trip, as she was the only one who had as little to lose as she did. Their lives, essentially, were all they had to lose. Bierce took strides knowing full well that the other had no other prospects, no way to feed herself, and the power of being one’s lifeline always spurred a good feeling to fall across her.

Ramona had taken a more practical approach toward dressing for the frigid mountain air, and aside from the ridiculous nature of her own outfit, Bierce had remembered the others much more vividly. The warmth of the grey wool sweater wrapped around her mid, the tight-knit toque that the other’s hair peeked out from, shoulder-length, corkscrewing from beneath the blue fabric, akin to ochre. The scarf that matched the others had, keeping her neck warm and nestling into the wool of her sweater. The snow of the setting had made them both cold, and while Bierce was self-conscious about how the frostbit and reddened of her nose and cheeks, Ramona simply wore the bronze her nose and face had been bitten with pride, happy to be in the field, no matter how obscure the work may have been. Bierce had often compared her complexion to the sepia-toned photography of the past, to the many photos she had become nostalgic for in the past.

Bierce rarely found herself self-conscious, and the sudden realization had caused her to cross her arms and turn as if she were scouting out the rugged terrain of the frosty mountain the newest lead had brought them. The contrast of the other in the snow had stuck with her, and she could not dig up any reason why. She was cold, fussy, and wished she could have forgone the whole operation, but she would not give up a chance to get her hand on that ring. Having usually been the epitome of grace outside of her outbursts on set back in Hollywood, to have someone seem more competent than her made her rather uneasy, even if Bierce was supreme in this excursion.

The likely reason was that Bierce was unlikely to find someone else to spearhead this entire façade. To become accustomed to the idea of the occult and finding a mysterious artifact, even with the exorbitant amount she was paying, most scholars would not give her a second glance. This, despite her fame usually allowing her all she wanted, would be likely due to Malak’s displeasure in her searching for the ring. So, Bierce was able to rationalize that her admiration of Ramona was due to the power she held in their mutual relationship. She could leave Bierce with no chance of saving her soul from Malak’s grasp, and Bierce knew it.

“Being a regular ice queen, I assumed you’d fare better in the snow.” Ramona’s words were often precise when she spoke them. Bierce made her living through her delivery of lines, through monologues and the look of her eyes in the camera. Ramona had no need to act, the words that came out of her mouth were as if she was scripted, and Bierce was the one left off guard. She did not dignify this with a response, despite her usual hot temper. The wind had chilled it away, and they had begun their journey, with a gaggle of others in similar snow gear, to find the only thing left that might save her.


	2. the words of the ritual echoing across the ballroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their failure to find the ring in Tibet, Bierce travels to Tianjin, China with her research team. An angry Bierce's outburst causes her to believe her team is falling out of her good graces, and that she could be losing Ramona's interest. Now in the hotel for the night, may she repair the damage she has caused?

A failure. The Tibet expedition had been a failure. She only had four years before her soul would be forfeit to Malak, four years till he was welcome to take it. They had arrived in Tianjin, China, Bierce hoping to regroup with the team giving her the leads she needed. They were all fearful of her as they all boarded the plane. Upon discovering that they were chasing a dead end, she had gone off on a tirade of insults, hurled at seemingly no one as she worked further into the cave they had been searching. Out of some level of respect, or because she knew she would have stricken one of them out of anger if she did not, she moved her tantrum away from the five that accompanied her. It felt like she was hammering nails into her own coffin, scurrying around instead of living out her last days in dignity. 

Bierce had never been a pleasant person to work for. Not for her hired help, nor for her compatriots searching for the ring. However, knowing very well they could leave her for dead in her search, she had worked on her filter. Such had not mattered, as the outburst had still happened. Time to rebuild some repour with them as they plotted their course from here. 

The only one that Bierce was not particularly worried about was Ramona, maybe because of their unspoken understanding and their power struggle to stay afloat off the back of the other, or for some other unknown reason. She was not phased, she would continue to work for her, but she felt it may have given her a complex, made her feel that she was better than Bierce. It did not matter why, but, the feeling that the other had lost some respect persisted, and that put Bierce off. 

Paparazzi, despite Bierce having been in a different country, had come out of the woodwork. The erratic behaviour of such a well-known actress had to be documented, people could make money out of it. She still attempted to maintain her status, however, simply not answering their questions. It made it more difficult for her to walk with her new entourage, and though she usually loved the attention, she was very glad when they had made it to the hotel. It was not exactly up to Bierce’s usual standards, but nothing usually was. It was much better than ice-chilled caves in Tibet. 

Bierce, though attempting to keep her new posse tolerant of her, would refuse to share a room with them. She was practically royalty now that she had reached this level of celebrity status and having to share a room with someone else’s snoring keeping her awake all night was not something she would put up with. However, she would allow them to share her quarters for a moment, perhaps having a bit of a meeting of the minds about where they would go next. Not that most of them wanted to hear from her after her hissy fit. She felt childish, opposed to the poise she usually exhibited, and she wanted to fix the others’ perceptions of her. 

“Mount Pan, there is a ruin hidden from the gaze of most tourists. Of course, we’ve managed to figure out how to make our way down there without getting arrested. However, it is quite a trek,” Ramona spoke in her usual nonchalant manner, a map sprawled out in the table in Bierce’s lavish room, “you may not make it in those heels you insist on wearing.” The others around the table never spoke out of turn, especially not like Ramona. The majority of the remaining three researchers were men, only one other being a woman. She mainly handled the cartography, Rosemary. Ben and Norman were both experts in some sort of field regarding artifacts, Bierce had never cared enough to listen. They all sat silent, not exactly shocked by their coworker’s straightforward phrasing, as it had happened many times before. 

For the sake of everyone else, Bierce refused to show any anger at this. She had to keep up appearances for her own sake, heels were a must during everyday life for a movie star. However, she had brought some flats to wear as well, and she would wear them simply to rub it in the face of Ramona that she had brought them with her. This thought pattern did catch her off guard, however, noting that she wanted to spite the other. It could be the insults that she was experiencing, but, it did not feel that way. Critics that did not like her work, though they were few and far between, hardly got a rise out of her as the other did. 

“Sounds reasonable.” Was the only response Bierce mustered, her eyes focusing seemingly somewhere else in the room as she sipped from a glass full of expensive gin. Her dark lipstick had left its imprint on the glass, and she noticed this as she swirled it around in her glass. “If our navigators can get us there, then, we should be closer to finding the ring. Hopefully, this attempt is the final.” Though her words were hopeful, her voice was flat, her eyes still cast somewhere else. “Feel free to take the night off, there is nothing I need you for, currently.” Bierce looked up to face them all, she was tired, her eyes telling a story of how put off she had been by her defeat. No apology to them, but hopefully letting them do as they please for the better half of a day would improve relations. 

“Oh,” as they all filed out of the room, Bierce spoke up, “Except Ramona. I need to speak with you. Privately.” Bierce said, her voice almost harshening, throwing back the remainder of the liquid in her glass. 

The remainder of their gaggle left very quickly, not wanting to be caught up in the storm that might brew with the two of them in the room. One could be taken up in the hurricane and tossed about. Ramona did not care, however. She simply sat down at the table once more, her eyes resembling chestnuts and the leaves of forest in their colour as they bore into her. Bierce scowled, knowing that the other still thought of herself as higher than Bierce because of how she conducted herself, because of her dabbling in the darkness of a demon’s contract. It made her shift, pouring herself another glass, and turning over one more, filling it for the other. Almost as if she were reaching out an olive branch, an understanding between them. 

“Love, I’ve got to hand it to you, I didn’t think you’d make it this far,” Bierce spoke, though her voice was still flat as she did, taking another sip from her glass, “I thought I would have gotten rid of you by now, not able to put up with your hesitation and pragmaticism. But quite the opposite has happened. A... A symbiotic relationship, if you will. You’re clever, much more so than the common lot, I see that you understand your own stakes as well, and your own power.” Bierce looked back to the other, the ocean in her own eyes revealing that she was somewhat afraid of the other, which did not come often. “Am I correct, or, have I just made a clown of myself?” 

“Nothing to lose. The same as you,” Ramona began, taking a sip from the glass. Most would wince, but she was rather steadfast in remaining the same. The corner of her lip turned up in a bit of a smirk, turning the table on the woman across from her. “however, I did not convene with the Devil, Helen.” The use of her first name in such a casual sense evened their playing field, and most barriers had come down at this point. “Yes, I’ve seen what our dynamic has become. You cannot scare me, Helen. Even if you’ve killed before, I don’t see why you would feel the need to ever dispose of me. I’m too valuable, you need me. Just as much as I need your support.” 

How Ramona had known that Bierce had committed such acts in the past surprised her, though the surprise did not cross her face. She would not give up that ground. 

“I had no clue that such was common knowledge. Enlighten me on how you found out.” This was more of an order than an inquiry. If this was about the sacrifice, if she knew what had transpired in the ballroom that night, Bierce might break. Bierce might as well hit her over the head with the bottle on the table. There was anger boiling inside of her, thinking that this woman may try to lord this information over her head, this atrocity she had committed. 

“Simple. Your husband died of arsenic poisoning. Common, yes. Rice and many other dishes may build up someone’s arsenic over time. But, it's not a hard bet to make that you were the one poisoning him. Not that I mind, his business practices weren’t exactly my favourite.” Ramona had always done her research before she took a job. The first museum job she had gotten had involved tracking down and smuggling artifacts out of their rightful countries, and though it paid well, she could not bring herself to continue. She was destroying culture, stealing from people that did not deserve it. People like Edgar, Bierce’s husband? Those were the kinds of people that deserved it, and those were the kinds of people having artifacts removed from other countries and displaying them in their manors. She had been at Bierce’s manor enough to know that Edgar enjoyed a collection of ancient pottery, stolen from overseas. “As for meeting Malak, I know you probably got in contact with him. It’s hard to do without a blood sacrifice, and that means you must’ve killed someone else. No clue who, you must have good cleaners to dispose of your messes.” 

Upon learning that Ramona had not found out the extent of her crimes, Bierce was less stiff. She was able to take another drink, though, it was a lot longer and drawn out. She could feel the alcohol impact her brain, ready for the hotel room to turn into a ship on the ocean, as the only way she could sleep was to be inebriated. Sleep was hard to come by, and smoking opium was not exactly welcome in the hotel currently, even though it had a much better effect on her sleep cycles. The booze would do, and upon seeing Ramona finish her glass, she poured her another. She would need a fresh bottle by morning, she assumed. 

“Yes. You are correct about both incidents. You must not mind, because you’re still here, my employee.” Bierce sighed, leaning back in her chair. She could relax, the other had not likely come halfway across the globe to kill her in a hotel in China. “You are likely the most competent person I could have asked, I do not know why I am surprised you’ve figured it out. So, you believe that I spoke to a demon? I believe the others have written me off as a quack.” 

“I believe you did. It seems that you’re far too aware to be hallucinating your demons; most of what you say is backed up by demonic history.” Ramona released a long exhale through her nose, her eyes downturned for a moment at her own glass. The liquor hummed through her, allowing her to also relax for a slight moment. “I’m assuming from the timeframe you’ve given me that you sold your soul for the celebrity status you have now?” 

“You’ve guessed correctly as well, very clever. Though, most would draw that conclusion, knowing what you know.” Bierce had drained her second glass, but she hesitated to go for a third. An old phrase about loose lips sinking ships echoing in her mind. “Malak was rather compelling, I’ll admit. Seven years and a day, that’s all I had. I thought it was a much longer time period four years ago. Now... I am rather afraid to die.” 

“You don’t seem much afraid of anything most of the time. You usually just look angry. Though... Anger may be derived from fear, which would make your earlier tantrum more reasonable.” 

This caused Bierce to go red. Why she was reacting so viscerally to the other’s words. To have the other run so effortlessly through her psyche was humiliating. In interviews with publications, she rarely had to put up a front, the interviewer never dove deeper. However, Ramona had read her as if she were written in black in in a Magazine. A heavy sigh fell past her painted lips, rolling across the table toward the other, almost as if Ramona had caught her in a corner. 

“Yes. I’m terrified. Absolutely horrified at the prospect of dying. Horrified at the situation I’ve gotten myself into.” Bierce had turned to another vice, a cigarette pulled from her case, quickly lit between her lips. Nicotine focused her, kept her on the ground when the idea of Malak threatened to pull her beneath the ground. “Are you happy with that answer, or are you going to play psychologist with me? Is that another one of those fancy qualifications you’ve worked so hard for?” 

“Well, I could do just that, but I’d rather not devalue the profession.” This spurred a rare smile from the one across from Bierce. Bierce, while not caring about the remaining members of her research team’s actions aside from their assistance, found that she was glad the other was smiling. More likely that she would stay with her through the search for the ring, their symbiotic relationship could continue without incident. The little quip from Ramona made Bierce chuckle aloud, her head tilting back as she let the smoke drift up from her mouth, circling around her face in the dim light of the hotel room. 

“At least you keep the conversation exciting for me. I throw a fit like a toddler, and you seem to remain levelheaded. That’s usually my role, Ramona. You might be able to make a run in the acting industry.” Bierce lifted her head once again, taking another drag from her cigarette, her eyes closing as she spoke again. “I don’t know if I regret getting into acting. I don’t know if I regret the way I solidified my fame. Maybe acting isn’t for you, at least you won’t end up offering your entirety to a devil.” 

“...” Ramona waited a moment, draining her glass before her questioning got bold with the other. Curiosity was her curse she toted around, which is why she had researched the woman before she accepted the position. “Tell me about the sacrifice you made, Helen. What was it like? Take me through the night it happened.” 

Bierce hesitated. Though, the gin resonated within her, allowing her to consider speaking. “I... Well, a handsome fellow told me that all my dreams would come true if I murdered someone while shouting mumbo jumbo, and I believed him. I stabbed someone with a knife, I felt their blood on my hands.” Her face had turned sullen, and she stiffened. Her breath seemed almost laboured for a moment. “It was a loud affair, the thunder, the screaming. I... It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that Malak showed his face and I signed a contract. Jokes on him, we’re hot on the ring’s trail.” 

“That we are, Bierce. I’m hoping this lead isn’t false.” Ramona was disappointed in how the other shut down, though she understood that one may have a little hesitation in speaking about a murder. Ramona did not truly know if she wanted to even know, as it might taint the respect she had for the woman. Bierce had carved herself into the entertainment scene by any means, took what she had wanted by the throat. Though the woman had some eccentricities, she did not think less of her for them. The murders, yes, those were a little upsetting. But the resolve Bierce had shown was admirable. 

“I suppose I should let you go. You’re likely exhausted from our spelunking expedition, and my stories get dull rather quickly. You don’t need to stick around and entertain me.” Bierce finished her cigarette, putting it out in the table’s ashtray. 

“You must have such a fat head if you believe that I’m here because I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I’m here because I want to be, I’m interested. If I wasn’t interested in what you have to say, I would have left already. I’m not starstruck by you, you’re simply... An oddity.” Ramona was not being completely truthful. There was some level of awe associated with Bierce, though she attributed it to the other having met an actual demon. She was now a creature of satanic nature, having killed in his name and pledged her soul. This was her alluring nature, and Ramona was glad to have some time to study this esoteric entity. 

Bierce’s laugh was a full out cackle, her head in her hands. Being taken down a peg in the manner did not bother her, in fact, it felt as if she was not indentured to a Demon. She could forget about the task at hand for a few minutes and just laugh with someone she may consider tolerable. “You’ve got me. You have utterly shamed me. You have slaughtered me in the worst way possible.” Bierce was being completely sarcastic, her tone flat in order to try and rouse some laughter from the other. 

Ramona’s lips parted in a quick chuckle, one that was genuine, before she turned her gaze elsewhere. “At least I don’t need a script to murder someone with words, Helen. Though I suppose you want me to go, you’ve been hinting at it.” She stood, pushing the chair in. “Thank you for the drink, I think I needed it, it’s been stressful picking up after you, chasing you through caves, making sure that you don’t freeze to death in your ridiculous getup.” 

Bierce had almost objected, her lips also parting for just a moment. Though, she cut herself off, swallowing. Human connection was not her goal. Keeping Ramona on her team was, for sure, but enough had been done tonight. Something yearned in her to speak just a bit longer, to have someone to speak to that did not care about her fame. Even if Ramona saw her as interesting for other superficial reasons, Bierce wanted to talk with her. No matter, they would speak later, whether it be during their exhibition tomorrow, or in another hotel room, over another bottle of gin. 

“Goodnight, Ramona. Rest up, you’ll be running after me as I traipse through the forest, wearing something leopard printed.” The corner of Bierce’s lips turned up, her joke evident to the other, though this would be realistic for Bierce. 

“Get some sleep, I know you don’t usually get a wink.” With that, Ramona shut the door behind her, leaving Bierce sitting at an empty table, alone. It left a bitter taste in her mouth to be without someone right now, not in the right mind to process her misdeeds. 

All she could do was disrobe, settling into a comfortable set of nightclothes, a nightgown of light silk that clung to her and fell down her curves. Nobody would see her in it, but it still made her feel somewhat attractive. Curled up in the unusually hostile hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. The minutes would turn into hours of sightseeing the corners of the bedroom ceiling, as most nights usually cumulated in. These hours would build up to a grand finale of an alcohol-induced set of nightmares, and a heavily limited amount of sleep. The dark bags under her eyes were getting harder to hide with makeup, and the aching nature of her body was drawing her into constant exhaustion. 

Maybe she did need a psychologist, or to talk about what she had done with someone, to get the entirety off her chest. The only one she could talk about this with would be Ramona, and to tell her who she had sacrifice; to tell her the deed she had committed, her only sure chance at getting the ring would disappear. No. Bierce could handle the nightmares. Bierce could brave the nights with pills in one hand, and a drink in the other. A visit to the occasional opium den would be a better solution to her issues than speaking and losing Ramona’s expertise. 

Though. Bierce was unsure of where her professional boundaries lay at the moment.


	3. Something’s missing here...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ruin in Tianjian reveals more about where Bierce and the researchers' journey is headed, and Bierce realizes that she may have a problem. After, of course, the rest of her team has realized the problem for themselves.

The lightning illuminates the billowing curtains of the open window, rain soaking the fabric and the tile of the floor beneath it, the thunder booming through without warning. The ungodly shrieks, as if a banshee with the high-pitched voice of a child had infiltrated her manor, bounced from wall to wall of the ballroom, matched only by the thunder emanating from the sky. As if a voice from above was crying out for Bierce’s actions to stop, the thunder rolled mercilessly, accompanying her chants. Her hands also moved without mercy, slick with rust, quick and aimless as they plunged the knife ever downward. 

This is when Bierce woke usually, having seen the outcome of her sacrifice, having felt the adrenaline and fear once more. This morning was no different. It was early morning, less than a few hours of sleep, darkened eyes and fast-beating heart. The sky was still dark, and she could see the lights of the city, one that was foreign to her. She hugged her knees to her chest, the silky fabrics of her nightclothes calming her as she practiced her self-control. She reached to the bedside table, grabbing her cigarette case, lighting herself a smoke. Her head leant against the headboard as she let the smoke create a halo around her, her breathing still ragged from reliving her experiences. The aching in her bones was relentless, no matter how she sat, or how tight she held her knees. 

Bierce had chain-smoked the rest of the cigarettes in her case by the time she had gotten out of bed, the sun peeking out slightly from behind the buildings and mountains surrounding her hotel room. She quickly dressed, wearing a black blouse, as well as a pair of grey trousers. It was rare for her to wear them, but she would rather not trek through a mountain in a floor-length gown. She sat on the bed, staring down at the floorboards, wrapping herself in her woollen grey sweater. She doubted that it would be cold down there, but it was comforting to feel the cloudlike fibres that made up the garment. She could control how softly she moved the fabric between her fingers, she could control whether the fibres broke under the pressure she put on them. This was likely the only piece of power she held, the actions she took with this garment. 

Bierce refused to eat that morning while the others built their strength for the day. Ramona had taken notice of this, having nudged her once or twice. Bierce ignored these attempts, but she gladly took the mimosa that had been set before her by the wait staff. Alcohol and forest trekking did not go well together, but Bierce did not care. It was the only way the day would be bearable, and the only way she would not snap at her compatriots. The lack of sleep compounding with the horrifying visions of her past made her grumpy, and even though the makeup attempted to hide the bags under her eyes, most of the others knew that something was wrong. Ramona especially, ready to be on the offensive should one of the others in the group need protection from one of Bierce’s tirades. 

“I found the best route to get to the ruins we’ve been looking at.” Rosemary eventually piped up; her fear having subsided somewhat since Bierce was back on the bottle. Though she did not meet the woman’s gaze, having unfolded her map at her place in the table, her finger gently tracing the lines she had made on the paper, her spectacle covered eyes flitting around the world she had drawn for herself. Her hair was dark, a complete contrast to Bierce’s platinum hair. Rather clever, but a little timid compared to Ramona was. Where Ramona wore trousers, refused to settle into place, Rosemary had settled into a profession nobody would bat an eye at. She wore skirts every day, regardless of where they were headed, refusing to ruffle too many feathers. Why she had come along with Bierce was beyond Bierce’s knowledge, but god was she lucky to have her. 

“Perfect. This leg of the journey may very well be our last. Good work.” Bierce spoke flatly, though the prospect of finding the ring did excite her. Give some words of encouragement, but, do not give them an overstatement of their worth. Rosemary seemed to smile at this, the outburst from yesterday still in recent memory, though, Bierce was making slow reparations. Bierce offered a rare smile back at her, though it was cut off by another sip of the orange juice and vodka that was drowning her morning drowsiness. 

“But there’s a possibility that we might not find it.” Ben cut in, his know-it-all attitude really shining through as he spoke. He was smart, but he let it get the better of him from time to time, especially now. “There are several other locations that I have found that might also have it, not that Ramona’s inklings are entirely wrong. But you know. She could be wrong.” His Carry Grant style, wavy brown hair staying perfectly in place as he shot shade over at Ramona. This earned him a kick in the shin from Ramona who had sat opposite of him, and his exclamation of pain grated through Bierce’s brain. She did not say anything about it, though. He had all the punishment he needed in the bruise to his shin. 

“I think that this lead is worth checking out just as much as any other, personally,” Rosemary spoke, shrugging her shoulders to show her stance on the issue before she pushed the wire glasses up the bridge of her nose. “and if we don’t find it, we’ll likely find it with the next lead.” 

Norman, who had been silent throughout the conversation, simply listened. He was more a philosophic mind, he enjoyed listening. Older, white-haired, contemplative. He may have been similarly aged to Edgar, but Bierce found Norman much more enjoyable to be around. He was the opposite to her, upbeat, hopeful. She appreciated that he offered a character foil, keeping Bierce, Ben and Ramona from ganging up on Rosemary with their sarcasm, bitterness and sharp words. Norman kept their spirits high, and Rosemary did the same. Bierce, while usually all doom and gloom, could appreciate when spirits were light. 

Ramona looked over to Bierce in this moment of lull, a scowl still plastered to her face. She kept this blank canvas, even as she gently tapped the ankle of the individual to her left with her boot. This person happened to be Bierce, and as Bierce looked down to see what had brushed against her, Ramona had quickly pushed a scone on a plate in front of the woman. When Bierce looked back at the table, she gained a scowl of her own, turning to Ramona, who was now speaking with Ben about how much his shin hurt. 

Bierce wrinkled her nose as she thought about the baked piece of dough in front of her. Her appetite had been lost years ago for anything that was not cigarettes and alcohol. But Ramona seemed to know that Bierce would need the strength this would give her, and Bierce shot her a dirty look as she began to pick at it. Food in her stomach felt rather foreign, though it was not a bad feeling. By the time she was done, the blueberry scone was no more, and Bierce felt somewhat renewed. She even participated in some remedial conversation with the group around her about how nice the weather was for their hike. Maybe this would not be all that bad. Maybe the ring would be there, maybe the search would be over. Ramona looked over at her with her lip curled up, offering the idea that everything may be okay. 

It had been a two-hour hike at an incline thus far, and Bierce’s feet were killing her. The beautiful warmth of the sun, the breeze whistling through the needles of the trees, the birds, it was hard to appreciate any of it while Ramona and Ben bickered with each other about the viability of this lead. Bierce did not have the energy to stop them, however. She only had the energy to push onward, taking up the rear section of the pack, letting them lead her. 

“I’m just saying since it has more roots in Christianity, western European countries should be looked at first.” Ben was steadfast in this opinion, his arms crossed as he walked beside Ramona, who was rather upset at the attempts he made to devalue her work. 

“And I’m just saying that while what we know about Malak comes from a biblical sense, the bible in itself is rooted in many different religions, and this is the most solid lead we’ve had in a l--” 

“Wait. Look.” Rosemary interrupted the argument, her eyes flitting up to a nearby tree. They all hushed themselves, even Ben, who looked like he was about to explode from keeping the words he had in mind for Ramona at bay. A bird, with a slight golden throat and beautiful amber wings barred with black, looked down at them from where Rosemary had pointed. 

“Tiger Shrike. Common to the area. Musical warbling.” Norman spoke, and the rest of them looked over to the older gentleman, not quite sure how he knew that off the top of his head. 

“Yes! Native to Asia as a continent, as well as some of the islands.” Rosemary laughed a little, watching the bird depart from the branch. Ramona had listened with interest to what they had to say but had no response. Ben had rolled his eyes, getting back to his argument with Ramona. Bierce, however, caught up to both Harold and Ramona. 

“That’s rather fascinating. I suppose Tiger Snipe comes from the fact that they’re... Well, striped.” Bierce commented, attempting to shift the focus of herself into a good light for the two, and genuinely being curious about the bird. What else could she do during this hike? Keeping her eyes turned to the ground and remaining silent did not interest her any longer. Rosemary was happy to talk about the native birds in the area, with Norman occasionally adding another interesting blurb. These two were genuinely pleasant to be around when Bierce was able to handle her moods, and she found the rest of the hike speeding by her. It was something, and the two of them were happy to be talking about their interests. Rosemary, of course, took a little bit of time away from the conversation, navigating them toward the ruin. 

Ramona stopped short of a short staircase leading to the crumbling pillars of a ruin, where the ring may lie under rubble. Ramona, out of principle, would not go up to the sacred site. She would not defile it. Bierce felt she had no other choice, and that was mainly what Ben was for, anyway. The sound of the soles of the four members of the team ascending the stairs stood out in the forest, standing in front of a ruin that had an unknown purpose to them. Grey, stone, built to last. Ramona kept an eye out for those who may interrupt their exhibition, though it was not needed. 

The hours went by, every rock lifted, all the debris and dust wiped away, and yet, there was no ring. The Riddle of Heaven was not here, and Ben was the first to let Ramona know his disappointment. 

“Well, it looks as if I was right. Again. First Tibet, now Tianjin. Where’ll we go next that’ll fuck us over?” Ben asked her, having hustled his way down the stairs to get into her personal bubble. Ramona stayed stone-faced at his verbal abuse. “I hope you’re carrying me back to the hotel, I’m not d-” Ben was cut off as Bierce made her way down the stairs. 

“Benjamin, you had better knock that shit off.” Bierce did not often curse when she was not angry, and though her eyes showed a look of disappointment, not much emotion was shown through her voice. “If anyone’s going to throw a fit, it’s going to be me, and I’ve not the energy for it. We could have gone to any ancient holy site anywhere in the world that you’ve suggested to me and had the same result. When we inevitably do, I’ll remember to rip your fucking head off like you just did to Ramona.” Bierce ended her small rant, continuing past them both, turning her head back only to look at Ramona. “Thank you for trying, I suppose.” 

Bierce had no clue how she had kept her cool through this discovery. She kicked a rock out of the path to express her anger, though aside from that, her anger did not manifest itself. Maybe because she was able to give Ben a verbal lashing, maybe because this disappointment was muted after the initial one. No matter. Tomorrow, they would be on a plane, on their way back to Los Angeles. Tomorrow, another plan would be put together as they sat in a luxury air vehicle, going over the previous research they had collected. 

As Rosemary passed a dumbstruck Ben, she grinned, dimples on full display for the fuming man. “Ben’s in trouuuuuuble.” She teased, before walking off ahead of him, close on Bierce’s heels. Norman simply gave him a disapproving look, knowing that this was not the way to treat someone you worked with, no matter how frustrated. He went back to his quiet contemplation of the situation, walking in the late afternoon sun beside his compatriots. They all followed Bierce, the journey taking another three hours to return to the hotel, arriving just as the sun began to dip behind the mountain they had scaled. 

Bierce was beyond exhausted. Another failure on her part, another dead end. She wanted to blame Ramona, but it was not her fault. It was her fault for making a deal with a devil, her fault for being greedy in her destiny. She silently closed the door to her hotel room behind her, knowing the others would do as they pleased. Pack up, organize. No time to sightsee when the clock was ticking, when they were on the job. Bierce looked at the fresh bottle of Plymouth Gin on her nightstand as she had requested, impressed that the staff had been able to find it. She immediately dove for it, laying back on the now inviting mattress, draining the better portion of the Gin, as if she were a babe with a bottle. She felt pathetic, but nothing was going to break her out of this position aside from the ring, so why not indulge? 

Though, as Bierce sat up, and the bottle on the nightstand a third lighter, she could hear footsteps outside her door. Her ears straining to see if she could pick up who it was. It took a few moments to feel the alcohol enter her blood, to feel the warmth bathe over her and rush to her ears and cheeks, but the stomp of the boot was significant. She just sat there, reflecting on the light she had seen through the leaves today, the Tiger... Swipe? Snipe. Falling deeper and deeper into her intoxication. Ramona opened the door without knocking, much to the shock of Bierce. She closed it behind her with just as much force, her brow knitted in a state close to confusion. 

“I understand that Ben was being a dick, but why did you vouch for me?” Ramona asked, no greeting, no formality. Now that they were without the others, Bierce may consider answering truthfully. Bierce, on the other hand, was feeling the inebriation, her lips curling up in a smile as she looked over at Ramona. 

“Ramona... No hello? Ramona, Ra-Mona... Mona... Hm... Oh, yes, the mountain affair.” Bierce may have also been consciously stalling, attempting to sell her mind as less than capable in this state. She had no clue why she had stood in for her, no clue why she had told Ben off. She just had, and she could not explain that. “Well. You did a good job! A great job! You got me out, looking at birds, digging through debris. Ben’s been a dick all day, I’m glad I said something.” Bierce slurred some of her words together, though this may have previously been an act, she was feeling the intensity in her head. She would sleep well tonight. “Come. Drink. Tell me stories about your conquests and stop questioning my every move.” Bierce pushed out her bottom lip in a faux pout, hamming her performance up. 

“You’re drunk.” Ramona now seemed angry, crossing her arms. The state of the other was pitiful, and Bierce was sure that’s why her eyes had softened. “You’re in such a sad state, you know that? What if the reporters saw this? They’d make a mockery of you from here back to L.A.” Ramona could not hold her chuckle, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. “Look. I do apologize. I’ll try my damnedest to find that ring, Helen. That’s what you hired me for, and I don’t like to put up a poor work performance.” 

Bierce attempted to make eye contact with the other, but her balance had been implicated in her drunken state. Instead, she flopped onto her side, her head lying beside where Ramona sat. “I... I do not consider you to be a bad employee. You’ve done everything right. You made me build up my strength for our journey, you made me hike a whole mountain.” Bierce chuckled to herself, looking up at the other the best she could. The rosy complexion of her cheeks radiated warmth, her chuckle persisting until it was a full out laugh. The only way she could not worry about her predicament was when she was drowning in the depths of her bottle. 

“Okay. Look at you. You’re absolutely sloshed. I think you might need to turn in early.” Ramona was now laughing as well, though the gravity of the situation had kept her from joining the laughter of the other in strength. “Don’t hit me, I’m going to move you, just so you don’t roll yourself off the bed in the middle of the night and wake up the downstairs neighbours.” Ramona stood, pulling the other by the hands to align her properly in the bed, much to Bierce’s dismay. 

“Nooo... Sleep... Sleep is so deep and dark, and when it’s not it’s loud and terrifying. It rarely lasts more than an hour.” Bierce did not mean to let her nightmares slip to the other, but that bridge had already been crossed. She felt needy and whiny, almost helpless as Ramona removed her flats. 

“At least you remember to bring proper shoes. Nightmares, huh? I understand how that is. I’d be surprised if you have any with how bombed you are right now.” Ramona followed, tossing the shoes into the other’s bag so she would not forget them in the morning. 

“They’re rather awful. I’d love it if I could just sleep. I hated Edgar, but sometimes, having someone beside you... Soothed you. The idea that whatever apparition is coming for you... It’ll get them first.” Bierce laughed aloud, settling into the bed, covered with a sheet. She had no care that she was still in her day clothes, she was comfortable as she was currently. 

“If you’d rather, I can send Ben in to keep you company. Though, he may be up all night chatting your ear off about how he’s sorry and how much better he can do.” Ramona snorted at the other’s joke, throwing the comforter over her. “Glass of water, warm milk, bedtime story before you go to bed?” Ramona asked her, Bierce feeling ridiculous at the request. 

“Actually. How... No, I want to ask you when I’m sober. I want to remember.” Bierce stopped herself. 

“What?” Ramona asked, an eyebrow-raising in question. Bierce had not asked too much of her before this, so, anything could be on the table. 

“No no no... I’m drunk.” Bierce wore a grin on her face, rolling on to her side, hugging a pillow to keep herself anchored. “Tell me about... I don’t know. Tell me about the places you've been. The strangest things you’ve seen.” 

“Well,” Ramona began, “once, I found myself in China, in a hotel. And I found an actress with high notoriety absolutely sloshed and needed to put her to bed as if she were a child. How about that?” Ramona asked, before tossing the blanket over the other’s head as well. “You’re rather silly from time to time for a stuck-up movie star, I’ll give you that.” 

“And you’re rather silly for an academic. Tell me, how did you get to where you are? How did you enter your field, as a woman, and... Well, people in America tend to have racist tendencies. Well. In any British colony, you’ll find that. You’re quite accomplished, despite the hurdles.” 

“Work twice as hard as everyone else has to and you’ll get there.” The words were slightly bitter, but Ramona punctuated this by tucking the comforter around Bierce. “All hard work and I’m still here, making sure you’re tucked in.” Ramona seemed to chuckle once more. “I think you’re only asking because you don’t want to drink alone and want me to hang around.” She elaborated further, looking over at the bottle. Maybe she wanted to join her, but this was not the behavior one would want to reward. 

“Maybe I do. Maybe you’re interesting, maybe I’m bored.” Bierce said, becoming somewhat withdrawn as she stared up at the other. How many interviews had she given to publications, and only Ramona could read her like a book? Ramona had gotten up to grab Bierce a glass of water, coming back with it, helping her to sit up against the headboard. 

“You’re going to be beyond hungover in the morning if you don’t drink. You put barely anything in your stomach all day, you’re going to kill yourself doing this.” Ramona would be joking if her words were not so matter of fact, with a tone of urgency beneath them. Bierce broke from her moments of lull and looked at her, taking the glass with somewhat steady hands. All the people to wait on her back at her manor, and this was the first time she truly felt taken care of. Ramona would not be here if she did not want to. She could have told her to fuck off, but she stayed, she got her water, as a friend would. 

Bierce had thousands of fans, but how many friends did she truly have? Malak could not be counted; he was a demon that was owed her soul. Maybe Rosemary and Norman, maybe eventually they would be friends. But Ramona was a strange case indeed. Bierce felt shame in letting her tuck her in, but she knew it was likely for the best. She quickly finished the glass of water, and Ramona took it back. 

“I’m only doing this because nobody else is around, and I refuse to spend an ungodly amount of time with you in an airplane if you’re going to be hungover and grumpy.” Ramona was flat in her speech, though she may have been joking. Reading her was getting more and more difficult for Bierce in her current state. Though, the scolding she received caused her to retreat under the blanket, moving around, trying to clumsily do something that Ramona could not see. “What are you doing under there? Please don’t be suffocating yourself, I need my pay at the end of the month.” 

Bierce popped back out from under the floral comforter, having slid herself out of her bra from under her blouse to get more comfortable, sinking it with an easy throw into her suitcase. How her hand-eye coordination was still functioning, Bierce had not the slightest clue, though she did not care. 

“Bierce, I’m being serious now,” Ramona’s face dropped, getting down to her level, sitting on the edge of the bed to make eye contact with her “the damage you’ve done to your liver may be exponential, and I’ll quit if I think you’re being reckless, and I’ll advise the others to do the same. I don’t care if you drink, but if it becomes a serious issue in our journey, I will leave.” Her seriousness was not lost on Bierce. 

“Pleeeease don’t go.” Bierce looked up at her, letting her head fall to the pillow. “You’re so smart. You’re so useful. What state would I be in without you?” 

“Not any closer to finding the ring, that’s for sure. Now.” Ramona set the glass down on the table, “sleep. We’re up early, time to start the process all over again." Ramona walked over to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle from her. “You can have it back in the morning, I’m not dealing with alcohol poisoning tonight.” 

“No... My medicine...” Bierce pushed her bottom lip out in a pout again, though it was an act. It was for the best that the other had the bottle. “... Tomorrow, I want it back. It’s hard to fly without it...” Bierce was serious. The sensation of being in flight, in a hurdling piece of metal thousands upon thousands of feet above the ground, it made her feel somewhat ill. Afraid. She was not afraid of much, so the fact that she admitted it to Ramona was meaningful. Ramona rolled her eyes, nodding. 

“Can do. Now, get to sleep. Maybe you’re drunk enough to avoid any dreams.” Ramona remarked, opening the door to leave. “... Thank you again, Helen. Speaking up for me kind of... It made my heart take on a little less of the burden of our failure, so to speak.” Though she did not let her respond, she simply closed the door behind herself, leaving Bierce wrapped up tightly in the comforter, mulling over her words. 

Bierce was appreciated at this moment. She had done something productive for someone else without it necessarily benefitting her, something nice. The feeling was new. Though it could just be the warmth from the burning liquor, it felt nice to do something for someone else, especially after all the selfishness that had plagued her recent years. Despite this euphoric feeling that washed her over, her sleep was still fraught with night terrors and waking moments. It was deeper than it usually had been, however, and she had no clue whether to thank the alcohol for that, or Ramona’s compliment. 

The curtains were not as vivid, the moonlight shone in an opaque fashion, and the blood was easier to wash off her hands of the blood of the sacrifice. Almost like her sins were forgiving her for a brief moment.


	4. I haven't laughed that hard since I was a little girl!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramona wakes in the night.

Ramona had awoken, though, neither in the physical realm nor a world within a dream. Not even a nightmare, just a state, one that was thick and humid. Onyx hues matched with light violets and deep reds danced around, her head pounding in this strange state of consciousness. She could feel the movement of colours blow past her, like a wind made of spray from the sea, salt dripping down her face as she stared into the blankness of the plane. She slowly moved her arms through the viscous nature of her surroundings, looking at both of her hands, ensuring that she was herself. Within her own body, she took in the strange reality of her situation. 

The maniacal laughter of someone sharing this space with Ramona drew her attention, and she was suddenly staring into the eyeless sockets of a demon, his skin almost burnt red, his horns curling behind him as he peered at her. Potentially out of morbid curiosity, potentially to scare her. Though, this only lasted a moment. He was gone before she got the chance to breathe a word to him. One name echoed through her psyche: Malak. There was no doubt in her mind that the one who owned her employer’s soul had been reaching out due to her involvement in their contract, and she did not take too kindly to this. Before any objections could be made, the tone had shifted, and she could feel the splintered wooden floor beneath her. 

The scent of the unfinished wood and vanilla clouded her mind with nostalgia, and her hands had become much smaller. A younger version, unpolished, though educated. Her mind was curious for every piece of knowledge it could find, consuming it and revelling in it. Her eyes drifted to the evergreen bookcase, the leaden paint peeling and chipping. The books warn on the shelf from the dozens of times she had read them, including the book she had found in her lap, which had pages with dog ears and slight tears from its heavy use. 

The sound of heavy, steel-toed boots falling on the floor outside Ramona’s childhood room excited her, standing, setting the book to the side. Her father was home, covered in coal and grease, but she still would not neglect to give him a hug. She would not mind if her overalls got smeared in grease or torn on the rivets of his work clothes. The arrival of Dad meant that her mother would be home in a few hours, and she would be able to help dad make dinner for all three of them while they waited for her return. 

This crumbled away quickly, as it always did. Screaming rang out as if it were a church bell sounding inside of Ramona’s head. Wails of grief, anguish, her hands clamping over her ears. In a strange state between her current self and her young self, Ramona fell back into a sea of glass. Shattering, she bolted up in the hotel bed, her breath quick, her heart speeding with the tempo of her trauma. Her heart kept the beat, keeping her rooted in the past for some unknown reason. What of Malak, as well? Why had he shown up so vividly when she had never seen his face in the past? 

Bierce’s demon was leaking into Ramona’s own unconscious thoughts, and it was now interfering with her sleep. She could sleep on the plane, of course, but it still made her somewhat upset. His image put her off, left her uneasy. Looking to the wall, she was able to see that it was only five in the morning, which caused her to breathe a long sigh. She would not be able to return to sleep tonight; she was far too shaken. 

Standing, in floral pajamas, she walked to the window, looking over the city. How much life existed on the other side of this pane of glass, and how much she would not be able to see on this trip. The mountain has been beautiful, of course, but learning about those around her was what truly interested her. The way communities functioned, the nuances of a street market, how neighbours cared for each other. Aspects that built a community from the bottom up. Her train of thought was interrupted as she heard a small commotion on the other side of the wall. In Bierce’s room. She had likely tried to get out of bed despite her state, and this caused Ramona to allow a chuckle to roll under her breath. Alcoholism was not usually funny, but there was hardly another way to cope with her boss’ state. 

Ramona exited her room, finding Rosemary standing in front of Bierce’s hotel room. 

“You’re hearing this too, right?” Rosemary asked her, her ear pressed to the door. “Do you think she’s struggling with a burglar or crazed paparazzo?” She asked, her voice a bit panicked. 

“No. She’s struggling with alcohol dependency and years of trauma.” Ramona sighed; her mind conflicted as she stood beside her coworker. “... I know this is an invasion of privacy, but I feel like she’s going to strangle herself with her sheets if we don’t intervene. We can always use your excuse for barging in if she’s mad.” 

“... You go first.” Rosemary shrunk into her comfortable, long pajamas. How strange they were both in this state in the hotel hallway, but it was for an important reason. Helping Bierce find this ring also meant helping her see dawn the next day, in this case at least. Ramona opened the door, finding Bierce face down on the carpet of the floor, half asleep, half awake. Not in too much distress, simply resting on the floor as opposed to the bed. A groan sounded from the sprawled-out woman as she heard the creaking of the door, attempting to look up at both of them. 

“Bierce.” Rosemary sighed, immediately walking over to her side. “You’re supposed to sleep on the bed.” She chided, though, Bierce’s response was almost completely unintelligible. From how pale she looked, and the sweat on her brow, Rosemary and Ramona had a mutual understanding that she was not feeling very well. 

“Sick.” Bierce managed to grumble. She must have been trying to make her way to the washroom, feeling queasy after her episode of binge drinking. Rosemary and Ramona each hooked one of Bierce’s arms over their shoulders, helping to drag her into the washroom. A team effort, but Bierce was rather grateful. She found herself purging any and all stomach contents that she may have possessed, retching as she did. Ramona gave her a few encouraging pats on the back, knowing that there was not much they could do. Rosemary, however, looked away at the risk of getting sick herself. 

“What were you doing up?” Ramona asked, looking over to Rosemary. 

“A strange dream plagued me tonight. Not quite a nightmare, but not a pleasant dream, either.” Rosemary spoke, looking somewhat downcast. Ramona noted this but did not want to express that she had experienced the same phenomenon. Malak was likely trying to dissuade them from helping Bierce, and Ramona enjoyed the company she kept. She would not elaborate further, even when Rosemary asked, “Well, why were you up?” 

“General insomnia. Plus, when Bierce is in trouble, I have a super sense about it.” Ramona joked, playing off the situation as she rubbed Bierce’s back, who was still holding on to the toilet for dear life. “Poor thing. Everything’s weighing heavily on her.” Ramona spoke, knowing Bierce likely could not understand a lick of what they were talking about. 

“We’re all stressed, but... This is her actual soul that’s on the line. She must’ve done something awful to sell it in the first place, but... This is a sad life for anybody to live. The lavish lifestyle doesn’t always make it perfect, does it?” 

“Not in the slightest, Rosemary. Not in the slightest. Now we’re stuck playing babysitter for a rich woman in the lull between attempts to find the ring. This definitely wasn’t in the job description.” Ramona and Rosemary both laughed aloud at this, though at Bierce’s aversion to loud noises, they quieted. Rosemary quickly grabbed a cloth, wiping the other’s face with general disgust before the hoisted her back into bed. They shifted her to lay on her side, a position universally understood as the recovery position. There were only a few hours until they were all going to have to awaken, but, Bierce needed all of the sleep she could get. 

“I’m glad we came to check on her. Drowning in a pool of your own... Well, sick, is such a poor way to go.” Rosemary scowled for a moment, looking away from Bierce, who was comfortably sleeping once again. “I’d rather go out with grace and dignity. The press would have a field day if they heard about her state right now...” 

“Let’s not worry ourselves about it now. She’ll likely be on her feet in a few hours, and the plane will sufficiently sober her to. Well. A Bierce that can actually speak.” Ramona thought about their situation, almost praying that she would not have to drag her onto the plane in a sorry state. 

“... Well, then. I’m going to try my hand at sleep again.” Rosemary held the door for Ramona, both exiting to the hall to allow the superstar her sleep. “I’ll see in you in a little while, Ramona.” She departed without a second word as if they would never speak about this again, for Bierce’s sake. 

Ramona, returning to her own bed, knowing the next few hours would be full of staring at a vacant ceiling, contemplated her dreams once more. How when she was sick, someone was always there to rub her back, and help her heal. Had Bierce experienced that? Or, was nothing genuine in her world? A superficial husband, a manor full of hired help that would rather be anywhere else. God knows what happened during her childhood. Maybe part of her trauma that lead to the bottle was linked to that. It could simply be the actions she took with her demons that caused her some mental breakage, but one does not make a deal with the devil without some strange ideas in their head. 

Ramona wrapped herself in the feeling of the hugs her father used to give her. She wondered if Bierce had ever felt anything remotely like the sensation Ramona had experienced in her dream that night. What she had experienced her whole childhood.


	5. He's right. I am getting more powerful.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bierce wakes up with a hangover, Malak lurks in the background and the research team discusses where they will go next.

A jackhammer pounded at the head full of platinum hair belonging to Bierce, her hands feeling the blankets around her as she woke. She remembered nothing of the previous waking moments that the others had helped her in, she only remembered the bottle and a meaningful conversation with Ramona. Times gone by, as well as her little issue. It did not impede her during the day, but god was it difficult to handle during the night. When thoughts and screams could be the easiest heard; when nobody was there to distract her. The alcohol could act as a buffer between her and her demons, but it made the morning oh so difficult. 

Bierce's eyes blinked once or twice, bloodshot, her hands shaking as she managed to bring herself to sit up. She was thirsty, disoriented. She reached for a cigarette, lighting it as she leant against the headboard. It helped to mitigate the symptoms of a bad hangover, but only slightly. This attempt to self-soothe was thwarted by a knocking on her door, though it might as well have been a banging against the wood, it had the same effect on her head. Norman’s voice spoke behind the door, muffled.   
“Ramona asked me to come and get you for breakfast, and to make sure you were alive.” Norman was matter of fact in this, expecting an answer. 

“Yes, I’m... Up. I’m coming.” Bierce’s voice was more of an extended groan, and her headache worsened as she stood. Her balance was off as she stumbled toward her suitcase, bracing against the wall it had been placed at to stay turned upward. She dressed quickly; this was never of many difficulties. Since they were arriving in the states, Bierce had to be concerned about what outfit she would step off the plane in, as she was a high-level celebrity. She would attract much attention back in America, though the slight break, aside from paparazzi in the denser parts of the city, was somewhat welcomed. She wore a dark grey dress, cinched around her waist, the skirt draping down to the floor. The neck dipped into a V shape, ending in the middle of her breastbone. It was backless, but it did not matter, as she had a black overcoat on to keep her warm. 

The act of dressing took a short amount of time, though Bierce’s makeup was a different story. It would take her twenty minutes at least. The others would likely wait for her, even if they were not pleased with it. Mary King’s brand rouge tinted her cheeks, cake mascara adorned her eyelashes. Eyeliner, eyeshadow, so many different aspects working hand in hand to give her a full face. The lipstick was always her favourite part, smearing it across her lips in a vibrant red. She kept it in the pocket of her jacket, just in case she needed a touch up before she got off the plane. The life of the rich and famous had taken some toll on the other, but she would never admit it. 

Bierce began to clean up the remnants of her time in the hotel. Her clothes were packed away, her cigarettes in her bag so she would not forget them in the room. It was quite impressive for her to perform these remedial tasks in her stupor. Though, while she was shovelling makeup back into her bag, she found herself looking at her made-up face in the mirror. Her bloodshot, teal eyes seemed to fade as they made way for the lifeless craters of Malak’s eyes. The shining red of his head, more akin to a skull than a living, breathing human. The black horns curled ever upward, his visage entirely one of a demon. They had a staring contest for a moment, Bierce unflinching from his presence. She waited for him to speak first, knowing that if he had anything of importance to say, he would speak. 

“You look nice. I wonder if the others down there agree. I wonder if any of them have begun to suspect you, aside from Ramona.” Malak’s voice was always low, holier than thou, regardless of his demon status. 

“Well, such doesn’t matter. They’re in it for the money, and that’s all. Many important businessmen have done much worse and have many more employees than I have.” Bierce retorted, unwilling to give him any ground in this conversation. 

“If you truly believe that, then I have nothing to worry about. Not much loyalty in a business’s workers without personal reason to stay. Especially when their workplace is hell.” Malak allowed a chuckle to ring through the mirror, vibrating the entire glass pane he was inside of. This bounced around Bierce’s aching brain, making her want to claw at her eyes. 

“What do you mean? Are you picking on my little employees, Malak?” Bierce asked, sticking out her bottom lip in a fake pout. “I will replace them. If you remember the little show you made me put on to be able to contact you, I’m rather despicable in nature. I’m a monster. That being said, I do not care about a few people that can easily be replaced. Leave them be, it will not help your desperate struggling to keep my soul in your clutches.” 

“I also remember the regret, Bierce,” Malak stated simply, pushing back against her retaliation. “I’ve witnessed the nightmares.” He was almost taunting her, though his expression was unchanging. “And, from what I’ve seen, your words are hollow. You’ve eaten virtually nothing for the past few years, just enough to survive and maintain your figure. No appetite, a side effect of your selfish decision. And now, this girl shows up with her crimped hair and her ‘eyes akin to the colours of the forest and chestnuts’,” Malak took a high pitched voice as he spoke these words, imitating Bierce’s internal thoughts, “and suddenly, you eat. You care, even if it’s for selfish reasons.” 

“You know, Malak. You can fuck off at any time.” Bierce retorted, flipping the mirror off as she turned to walk away. Though, out of instinct, she turned back to look, hoping that she had not been hallucinating this entire encounter. Malak was still there. 

“You’re just angry because you know I’m right. Though, you’re right about one thing. You’re a monster. Your reflection looks more like mine every day you scurry around the face of that globe.” Malak grinned his grin, Bierce angered at his presence in the mirror. Before Bierce could retort, a loud banging on the door distracted her, turning her attention away from the mirror. 

“BIERCE.” Ben’s voice boomed. “We’re worried! You’re taking even longer than usual!” He called through the wood. 

“Coming!” Bierce called back to him, turning back to the mirror. All she saw was her reflection staring back at her. There were no horns to her head, no red to her face aside from her blush and her lips. She was convinced that there was still a demon staring back at her, despite this. 

“I’m surprised you’re not face down in a pile of scrambled eggs,” Ramona commented casually, Bierce sitting to her left at the table once more. Bierce was drowning her hangover in orange juice and vodka as she did every morning. It would help to alleviate some pain at least, her aches and pains in her muscles and brain. Staring at the table was an easy pass-time when her mind was plagued with Malak’s words. She had tuned in to the pattern of the wood of the table until Ramona’s words had broken her out of it. 

“I’m just as surprised as you, love.” Bierce’s voice was more reserved than usual, rough. The hangover attributed to this, but her mental state did as well. She looked at Ramona, her eyes darting around to the rest of the group. Had Malak been toying with them as well? Why had they not said anything to her about it, as she was the one that was the most in tune with demonic forces? They could all truly be haunted by Malak, and they did not breathe a word of it to her. Were they worried about her well-being? Or, they could believe she did not care. Of that, did she truly care? 

“You’re a little spacey today. Are you sure you’re all there?” Ben asked, having brushed off the incident from the day before, splattering ketchup all over his eggs. However, Bierce had no answer, she was still deep in thought, and had not registered this line of questioning. 

As Bierce stared off into the distance, Ramona pushed a plate in front of her. It had a single piece of toast, cut into triangles. It had been brushed with butter. Carbohydrates were a good cure for a hangover, and they both understood this. Though, when Bierce noticed the toast in front of her, she could only raise an eyebrow in question. Malak had accused her of allowing the other to influence her, he had accused her of caring enough to eat for the other. Bierce stared at the toast, not wanting to prove Malak right. Though, everyone ate breakfast around the table. Norman ate bacon and eggs sunny side up, as well as a heaping bowl of oatmeal. Ben ate his eggs scrambled, and preferred sausage. Rosemary enjoyed marmalade on her toast, eating bacon alongside it, still deeply focused on another map of another potential location of the ring. Ramona ate a small amount of everything, keeping herself going among their adventures. 

“Pass me that new-fangled peanut butter. I somewhat enjoy it.” Bierce spoke, having given in to Ramona’s silent request. The Skippy was passed across the table, Bierce putting a thin layer on the toast before eating, making quick eye contact with Ramona to ensure that she knew she was eating. Why she did this, she had not the faintest idea. She was not eating for Ramona at all, she was eating to keep herself alive. Was she not? 

Ramona’s lip turned up in a faint smile, her attention turning back to Ben, who was devouring his eggs with ferocity. She had set the bottle previously confiscated from Bierce beside her, allowing her to take it back. Bierce did not notice at first, her gaze now purposely ignoring the other. Maybe the demon was right, she was spending far too much time with them, impacting them with her past. Why did it matter so much to her at this moment? 

This sentiment lasted until the end of breakfast, Bierce tucking her bottle into her bag. Their plane would be in soon, and now that their luggage had been returned to them from their rooms, it was time to go. The trip back would give them lots of time to discuss the next course of action, or lots of time for Bierce to contemplate these difficult questions. 

The team of researchers, plus the celebrity, took two taxis to the airport. Bierce was silent the entire ride, despite Ben and Rosemary’s attempts at conversation. They assumed her to still be riding off the effects of the alcohol withdrawal or settling into the mimosa she had drunk at breakfast, though she was still mulling over the encounter she had experienced this morning. As she leant her head against the tinted window of the taxi, she could almost see his eye sockets boring back into her instead of her own reflection. 

At this period in time, Bierce was glad that air travel was exclusive. It was only for the rich and famous, both of which Bierce happened to be. An air-vehicle dedicated to her team, nice and quiet, room relax. All they had to do was come up with a plan, which might only take an hour or two. The rest of the flight could be spent getting away from the race for the ring, maybe even take a nap. A table sat on one side of the plane, two bench seats up against it. Passenger safety was not most airlines’ concern, but their comfort certainly was. Despite the other, spread out seats off to the other side, the five of them squished together on either side of the table. Bierce and Ramona on one side, the other three smooshed up in the other. It looked that they would be discussing the next step in their journey following take-off, and they had assumed that position. 

Bierce’s anxiety, though usually reserved for things of the demonic variety, began to rise in her chest. She gripped the armrest as the engines whirred to life, sucking in a deep breath. Her eyes closed, nails digging into the leather of the armrest, biting the lipstick off her bottom lip as they sped down the runway. The feeling of weightlessness beneath her feet caused a shiver to roll up her spine but allowed her to release the armrest. The sky was a new domain for humans, and though it had won the World War, she was still somewhat distrustful of it. 

It never passed her mind over every time that they lifted off from the ground that this would likely be the closest that she may ever get to Heaven. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that The Church of St. Etheldreda is the oldest Roman Catholic church in England. The artifact could have likely been moved there and hidden as an important piece of cath--” Ben was cut off. 

“All I’m saying is that you’re fucking wrong!” Ramona snapped back. This discussion had been going on for an hour already, and it was nearing the two-hour mark steadily. Rosemary had her head in her hands, Norman’s face propped against his hand as he rested his elbow on the table. Bierce engaged with the argument, wanting the best lead for their next expedition. “Israel, Lebanon, Jerusalem! These are the places we should be going. We should be searching holy sites that make sense, not churches built in the thirteenth century! Malak is older than the world itself, and we should be looking at where the philosophers of the world believe the Garden of Eden to be; ancient holy sites.” 

“Conquest of those of the Catholic and Christian faith would suggest that the artifact was moved by a holy figure.” Ben crossed his arms, leaning over the table.   
“I would suggest that you’re an idiot. Catholic priests not using an item they find in order to give themselves power? I couldn’t imagine that. Power-hungry bastards.” Ramona stood by her point, which Bierce seemed to resonate with. However, the idea that it could have been moved had come up in her mind before. 

“Well...” Norman began, leaning back against the softness of the bench seat. “I believe that you should compromise.” 

“Compromise, how would we compromise?” Ben snapped over at him, Rosemary acting as a buffer between them. “Half of us cannot just go to Jerusalem on a pilgrimage while half of us travel to England. We need our whole team involved.” 

“Um. Well, what about...” Rosemary started, scowling a bit again. “We could go to England first because there’s only one lead there. Then, we can deal with the holy sites in the middle east, one after another. It would save a lot of time, and we just followed Ramona’s leads in Tibet and Tianjin. It’s only fair...” 

Bierce, this approach having piqued her interest, turned to Rosemary. “That is a very good point. Thank you, Rosemary.” 

Ramona, having had it reasoned like that, understood how it would be feasible to take this plan of action. Though, she still shot Ben a look of distrust. This lead would be dead, and she knew it. Bierce could pick up on this look, and she gave the other a tap on the leg with her shiny black shoe. She let her know that this was alright with a slight smile and another tap once she had gotten her attention, in a much better mood than this morning now that this had been squared away. 

“Now,” Bierce began, settling back against the cushion of the seat. “Rosemary, I need you to begin researching the site. Blueprints. Ben, look further into the history of the church. I want names, alliances, any information ready to rear their ugly heads. Norman, I need you to investigate recorded rumours and supposed secrets lurking about referring to St. Etheldreda. Secret tunnels under the church, secrets behind walls. We need to turn this church upside down without actually ever touching it once we return to the manor.” 

A nod of their heads sent the other three away, understanding their position. Bierce, as the others found themselves into the separate seating in order to get some much-deserved alone time, turned to Ramona. She had yet to be given a role. 

“As soon as Ben’s lead comes up empty, we’ll be back on track.” Bierce joked though she hoped his lead would dig up the ring. 

“Why would you waste your time going there if you don’t have any faith in him?!” Ramona asked, keeping herself as quiet as she could through clenched teeth. “You’re wasting your time. You’re wasting time that you could be finding the ring. You’re dying every moment you’re doing this. You’re dying.” Her reaction was visceral, though she kept it from the ears of the others. Angry about the other’s nonchalant attitude about her own demise. 

Bierce was visually taken aback by this, her jaw hanging a little bit, her mouth left open with nothing to say. Shocked was an understatement, and she had no response to give Ramona. Why did she suddenly care about her inevitable death? When did Malak taking her soul become an actual concern for Ramona? Had Malak been infiltrating her life, causing her distress as well? 

Ramona seemed to notice the other’s shock to her anger, and her face softened. She took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth as her body deflated. She fell back into a steady rhythm of breathing, calming herself. 

“I don’t think that you should be so careless with your life. It makes me worry about what you’d do with our lives. If it’s all just something you could throw away.” Ramona’s voice had faltered even further, her gaze falling back to the table. 

“Where’s this all coming from? I think that Ben has a legitimate lead. I was just making a little joke, am I that serious that I’m not allowed to joke?” Bierce asked, trying to lighten the other’s mood without much success. 

“Why are you joking about your fate, though? You’re going to be tortured by a demon for eternity if you don’t find the Riddle of Heaven. You’ve only got four years left if you don’t do this right. You’re joking about it, and it scares me.” Ramona explained, trying to find the correct words for Bierce. 

“Why are you scared about that? It won’t impact you. You’ll still get paid, you’ll go on your way, I’ll be in the ground and screaming as Malak tears into me. You won’t have that on your hands, I will. Especially after what I’ve done.” Bierce was still stunned by the entire encounter she was having, being mindful to keep her voice down. The others were farther away, and the roar of the engine likely drowned out their conversation. 

“Maybe... I don’t know, Helen. I... Maybe I don’t want this time I spend travelling the world with all of these goofballs to mean nothing. To have done it for literally no reason.” Ramona offered, though the wording made Bierce believe that Ramona was holding something back. She did not pry. 

“I think we’ll find it. Even if it takes four years, even if it takes all of us arguing constantly, we’ll have the ring within the time constraint. You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it.” 

This did not soothe Ramona. She crossed her arms over her chest, turning to the table. Documents that Ben had written up about St. Etheldreda. She did not want to work off Ben’s handiwork, but she felt that time was running out at the moment. The flight would give her time to figure out strategies for the local authorities. Finding who she could persuade to give them backstage access to the church. 

“I’m... Just don’t let me down, Bierce. I’ve chosen to trust you. To work for you. Don’t make me regret it, don’t make me feel like this is worthless stress I’m taking on.” 

“I promise,” Bierce started, settling a hand on the other’s shoulder now that she had turned away from the other. This caught her attention easily, “I’m making every moment count, I’m going to make this matter.” She offered the other a smile akin to the one Ramona had offered her during the morning. “But, don’t make me your whole life. I’ve a ton of fans back home that’ve already done that. Live a little!” Bierce motioned toward the plane’s window, as they were flying over a sprawling middle eastern city, the afternoon sun cascading and shining over the buildings below. “Look, so many people will never see this view. So many people will never get to experience this. The takeoff always puts my stomach off, but it melts away when I see the beauty beneath.” 

Ramona gazed down, and though she had seen it before in her travels, hearing Bierce describe it in the way she did made her receptive to experiencing it again. “I suppose that you’re right. What life is worth living if it’s just a struggle to get from day to day? I’ve lived that, and I don’t want to live it again.” Ramona sighed, looking once more before turning back to the work on the table. “However, we should come up with a plan together. Logistics. Flights. Where we’ll stay, routes... At least, with what little information we have now. We’ll fine-tune it once we get home.” 

“Perfect. You always know just where to start. I spent my childhood in London, it will be nice to return, even if it is for a short time. Though, we’re more likely to run into my fanbase there.” Bierce struck a dramatic pose. 

“Don’t bolster your own ego, it’s big enough. Now, we’ve got work to do.” Ramona, though smiling once more, was not above teasing Bierce further. She may have spoken her way out of Ramona’s criticisms, but Bierce would answer for her burning questions eventually. She still wished to know about the ritual that took place in the very manor she had been boarding at. 

Discussion ensued, fine details being laid out for a later date, dates and times recorded for the researchers to schedule around. This was the norm for another hour or so, not that they were keeping track. Bierce found her eyelids getting heavy, as the combination of alcohol and exhaustion she had accumulated in her brain had begun to take its toll. Ramona had continued her work, Bierce offering what input she could between yawns. 

Bierce was just about to close her tired eyes, indulging in a high-altitude cat nap, until something caught her off guard. 

Malak was standing in the aisle between the seats, unbeknownst to the research team, including Ramona. 

He was here, and he was looking each of them over carefully. His eye sockets then fell on Bierce, who was scared stiff by his presence. She could not move. She could not call out to the others, nor could she reach out and stop him. Bierce was left face to face with a demon, the mirror having been taken out from between them. Her breath quickened as panic set in, fight or flight mode roaring to life inside her chest. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, as he got much closer, now face to face. His black suit was untouched, red tie hanging perfectly. His omnipotence was apparent to her, though it had been during every encounter. Though she wanted to cry for Ramona to notice, Bierce could do nothing but watch in horror as Malak approached. 

Malak’s gaze turned to Ramona, who was still oblivious to his attendance at their airplane party. Bierce began to hear a familiar scream ring through the small cabin of the aircraft, thunder suddenly crashing outside the airplane. The rain pounded on the wings, and Bierce looked down to find a bloodied blade in her hand. Malak looked back to Bierce, gesturing to Ramona, who’s body had been riddled with wounds from the knife. Bierce’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out, and as she looked around in a panic, she found the remainder of her compatriots in a similar state to Ramona. 

Malak put his finger to his lips, and this was when Bierce woke. 

Bierce woke not with a start, but silently. Her eyes were one of the only expressions of her fear, having opened widely. Her heart was speeding in her chest, the terror of the nightmare having been pulled into her waking moments. 

Though, after a few moments of analyzing her surroundings without any movement, Bierce confirmed that it was a dream she had experienced. Something was not right, however. She was curled up on two of the seats of the three-seat bench, her head nestled against the chest of someone warm, breathing. Alive. 

Ramona had also taken the opportunity to nap. Without making the conscious decision, they had both ended up in this position. Bierce was snuggled up to her breast, able to hear her heartbeat and breath without difficulty. Ramona’s arm had settled over Bierce’s shoulder, holding her in place as her head rest against the wall of the airplane. How strange it was to find themselves so closely nestled; caused blood to rush to her face and leave her cheeks dusted with a rose hue. She did not want to move, however. Moving would wake Ramona, as her arm was snugly wrapped around her. 

Maybe Bierce could attempt to continue her afternoon nap, knowing that Malak could not touch her, per her contract. If she was in contact with Ramona, he could not touch her. Or make Bierce hurt her. The fear remained, but she closed her eyes, drifting off once more within minutes. No demon would best her sleep schedule, especially when she was hungover. 

They would not awaken until they were on their final descent. Bierce had awoken first once again, keeping still as to not bother Ramona. She continued to pretend to rest, for some reason unbeknownst to her. Potentially because she did not want to be questioned for resting on her, potentially because she wanted more contact. Touch starvation was real and alive in Bierce, even if she did not want to admit it to anyone. 

Ramona woke as the altitude dropped, looking down to see Bierce on her chest, curled into her as if she were a teddy bear. Bierce felt Ramona shift and looked up to see her face as dark as her own. Bierce quickly sat up, brushing herself off. 

“I suppose we should clean up our papers and get ready to be bludgeoned with journalists,” Bierce said quickly, though the darkness of her face still betrayed how she was feeling. She quickly shoved their careful work into a folder and tucked it into a briefcase, looking over at Norman who sat adjacent to them. He gave Bierce a knowing smirk, to which Bierce responded with daggers. After the terror she had experienced during her flight, she deserved a little human contact. 

“Yeah, you’ll need me to act as your personal guard between you and them. I’ll knock a few heads together for you if need be.” Ramona was only half-joking; she would gladly beat up some of these vultures for her employer. Bierce quickly reapplied her lipstick, looking in a compact mirror to ensure that she was photo-ready. They still had quite a while before they would be allowed to get off their plane, but Bierce was already worried about what this year off was doing to her career. 

Bierce’s heart began to flutter as they neared their touch down, the anticipation of the wheels hitting the runway having her a little nervous. The idea that Malak’s influence could cause the wheels to come off bounced around her mind, making her fear for the lives of her research team, as well as herself. Ramona seemingly picked up on these feelings, she could see Bierce’s nails leaving indents in the leather of the armrests once again. She set her hand on her shoulder, offering her a smile. 

“You think that I wouldn’t protect you from some little old airplane crash, Bierce?” Ramona asked, a small chuckle accompanying her own joke. 

“Unless you double as a flotation device, I don’t think you can.” Bierce retorted though she returned the smile. It made the lurch of the wheels feel all that more comfortable when they landed, slowly coming to a stop in front of the airport. Drivers would be there for them, to take them all back to her manor. Returning home was a little bittersweet, as the silence of the ballroom threatened to drown her if she was alone for too long. She had to worry about her demons, even in China, but at home, they permeated the walls. 

Bierce stood as they were given the all-clear, her briefcase of important documents and maps in hand. Ramona walked behind her, the remainder of the group filing out after her. The door swung down and open, revealing stairs, as well as a gaggle of paparazzi with large, clunky cameras. Blinding camera flashes nearly blinded her, but she had remembered to wear her sunglasses. The others were dazed by this, though she did her best to lead them through the aggression.

“Good to be home, isn’t it?” Bierce asked aloud, not speaking to anyone in particular. The entirety of the group had a different opinion on the matter.


	6. They're hiding in the shadows.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bierce becomes stir-crazy within the walls of her manor and kills time by speaking with those in her research team.

A week. The soonest they could have them back up in the air on their way to England. Bierce took out her frustrations by pacing through the endless halls of the manor, the polished sheen to the floor clacking with every point of contact her heels made. It bounced off the walls lined with art, none of which she had the mental capacity to appreciate currently. She did not want to go out in public, she did not want to be mobbed, though the attention was occasionally pleasing. No, she was stir-crazy, and she had only been home two days so far. Whether this was because of what Ramona had said on the plane about wasting the remainder of her life, or because the halls of her home contained dark demons, or a mixture of both was beyond her. Her only certainty was that to lessen the anxiety that brewed inside of her, she had to leave the manor. For now, she could only catch up on the happenings with the research team residing inside her home. 

“Not much information about it available? What do you mean?” Bierce asked, having sat down next to Rosemary in the spacious sitting room on a sofa that nearly enveloped her as she sat. 

“Surprised me just as much. Nobody has actually mapped out the church at all, no blueprints, no documents I can find to be of any help.” Rosemary sipped on lemonade, the early afternoon sun cascading into the room, onto the carpet and illuminating the little she did have. “Some make pilgrimages there, being the oldest Roman Catholic church in England, but aside from that, it doesn’t seem to be...” Rosemary stopped speaking, a sigh replacing the end of her sentence. 

“Ben’s just giving me a garbage lead, isn’t he? So sure of himself?” Bierce asked, a scowl crossing her face as she raised her brow, questioning the other’s reasoning. 

“I didn’t say that! I’m just saying there’s not a lot to work off of here. And, he can be a bit of a... Well. He can say unnecessary things to people.” Rosemary defended her words tactfully, not downplaying either party’s concern. “I think it’s worth checking it off the list, for sure. I believe that it could offer valuable information.” 

“Keep telling me that. I don’t want to waste my time...” Bierce stood, looking down at Rosemary afterward. “I wish we could already be overseas. To be stuck here makes me rather tense... And with the passage of time breathing down my neck...” 

“We’re working on it, Bierce. Together. A unit dedicated to finding you The Riddle of Heaven. I’d tell you to calm yourself, but that would not do you much good. I’ve seen you upset, and you’re not easy to cause. Though, I’ve also seen you complacently intoxicated and pitiful.” Rosemary commented, though her smile seemed to falter as she realized what she had said. 

“You and the rest of the group, how else is one supposed to deal with the existential dread of knowing they belong to a demon? Aside from having a terrible tantrum and a visit to an opium den?” Bierce did not miss a beat in the conversation. The difficulty she had been having in coping with her mental state had to have been evident to those spending the most time with her. 

“Fair enough.” Rosemary shared a quick laugh with Bierce, glad to have some level of lightness in their encounter. “I’ll tell you if I find anything of interest, but... I’m sure that this is just another box to tick off, not our final destination.” 

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m tearing Ben down for hyping up his lead without any evidence.” Bierce left the other be, for now at least. 

The news of Rosemary not having access to this information would worry Bierce if it did not mean that Rosemary would have more time to research the other important leads in their list. Not that she did not have faith in Ben, she truly wanted to. But, with all the evidence compiling, it seemed as if he was leading them down a dead end. Bierce avoided the ballroom for the moment as she paced through the quiet halls, contemplating how the pieces were falling together. 

At this rate, she felt she would never have the ring in her possession. Maybe she should just give herself up to Malak, stop this nonsense and live the remainder of her life in the luxury of her home. The fame and notoriety washing over her, waited on for her every need. Though, she had not a clue what she would do when she had the ring. To extend her life, keep her soul from Malak, avoid eternal torment would likely be the best choice. Would it not? Or, was there another important factor tugging at her heart, calling out for her to fix her mistakes? 

The ballroom was the only way to make it to Norman’s study. Bierce would have to enter in order to speak with him. She pushed open the old, grand wooden door, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. She refused to spend time in it anymore and refused to tell anyone why. The light filtered in from the sun, the curtains catching it’s brilliant yellow as she walked, practicing her deep breathing. Though, as she passed the stairs leading to the upper level, carpeted in red, Bierce let them catch her eye. Instead of heading straight forward, her sentimentality got the best of her. 

The lightning flashed through the windows, thunder vibrating down her spine and sending her to her knees, her hands bracing her from falling flat on her face. Her right hand, slick with blood, knife grasped firmly between her fingers. The blood pooled beneath her, and the screams still echoed around her, filling the ballroom with horrific music, a chorus of cries for help. The banging of the door she had entered through mysteriously chained up. The lightning flashed again, the figure wrapped in sheets that were once white, now stained with blood. Malak stood atop of the stairs, gazing downward at the pathetic visage of Helen Bierce. 

The blood evaporated, the sun returned, and Bierce found herself having only tripped on the length of her dress. She looked up the stairs, seeing nothing but the decorative pillars and the carpeting that lead up to the second level. Just a bad moment, just a hallucination of what had once been. A mistake all but forgotten, all but atoned for. 

Bierce hurried out of the ballroom, wanting to escape her demons physically, not just through the use of recreational substances. 

“So. No tunnels under the church?” Bierce asked, leaning over Norman’s desk as he worked. They had all been residing at her estate under her employ, Bierce near demanding the entirety of their attention while they chipped away at her problem. 

“No tunnels.” Norman responded, not looking up from his ever-important work. 

“Passages behind the walls?” 

“No passages.” 

“Bookcases that open up to secret rooms when you pull the right book out of them, like in a mystery no--” 

“Bierce. You’re just toying with me now.” Norman did smile at this, though his eyes remained downcast. “The church is locked up pretty tight. Though, Ramona is working on local connections. She likely has more for you than I do. I could see about some other sources, though it’s your standard church. As crooked as those usually are, this one is not hiding demonic power in tunnels underneath.” 

Norman now turned to look up at Bierce, his elbow resting on the desk, and his head resting atop of his fist. 

“I know Ramona is the one spearheading this operation, but, falling asleep against her on the plane?” 

“An accident, Norman. We were all very exhausted!” 

“What would the press say, Helen? What would the newspapers read? I believe you’re already worried about your image.” Norman pressed on, not always keen on Bierce’s limits in conversation. He had a thirst for knowledge, after all. Bierce did not fault him for this. 

“Not that it matters, I’ll be in hell soon enough, and you all will be richer for it.” Bierce did not seem downtrodden about the matter, rather jovial in thinking about it. Humour helped between the episodes of trauma, even if it was joking about future torture. 

“You haven’t resigned yourself to that yet. You would be partying in the hills if you had. Instead, you’re here with us, enduring Ben’s boisterous attitude, Rosemary’s excitement, my esoteric nature and Ramona’s... Well, you’re falling asleep on Ramona without any hesitation.” Norman simply noted her behaviour, going back to his reading. 

“If you think that I have feelings for anyone you’re wrong. I am not fr-…” Bierce could not truly say that they were not friends. “Well, I consider myself somewhat friendly with the lot of you, but you are sadly mistaken if you think that it runs deeper than that.” 

“People would talk if they heard about you keeping her back for a drink while the rest of us are sent to our rooms,” Norman remarked once again, turning the page with an audible sound. 

“Nothing has gone on! We’ve talked, I’ve drunken myself into a stupor. She put me to bed once, but...” Bierce should not have given him that ground to take. Her face was a dark colour, akin to muted flamingo. “Nothing. I’m not— I cannot believe that you are even implying what you are implying.” 

“Yet you defended her against Ben, and claim you have an allegiance to neither. Given your track record, you’d usually be angry with Ramona for giving you two false leads in a row.” 

“Ben was being an absolute idiot and was upsetting me in his words, that is all! I should... I should fire you, Norman.” Bierce crossed her arms, puffing out her chest, attempting to remain intimidating. She knew that her intimidation had faded from nearly all their minds with the Tianjin trip. “I never would, though. You’re far too valuable.” 

“That’s why I feel safe in telling you what I’ve seen. What Rosemary has seen. What Ben... May have seen, I’m not sure on how observant he is.” 

“You’re a card. I’m glad you’re on board, even if you turn me the colour of one of the roses in the courtyard.” Bierce commented. “Keep up the good work, work on Ramona’s leads for now, they seem more... Well, meaningful.” 

“Told you, smitten for Ramona.” Norman remarked once more. 

“And I told you, I will have your ass out the door faster than you can make another quip!” Bierce stormed into the next room, though part of it was an act. She could not let Norman get too comfortable, though, it had truly ruffled a few feathers. She had no feelings of any sort for Ramona, no matter how dark her cheeks got. It was simply the result of his prying into her personal life, and a few embarrassing moments, such as falling asleep against her on the plane. 

Though, this encounter with Norman made it difficult for Bierce to think about heading toward where Ramona was staying in the house. That would only prove Norman further. That would only prove Malak further! Eating because of Ramona, thinking more about self-deprecating jokes, this is exactly what both Malak and Norman had predicted. Norman must have been a devil, must know more than the average man. Or, he could simply be observational. Either scenario bothered her, as he knew more about herself than she did. 

No. Bierce could not let them dictate what she was going to do. She balled her hands into fists, marching toward Ramona’s quarters. Her heels clomped along the halls, clicking, alerting the other to her presence. She walked upstairs, carpeted, muffling the brutal noises of her shoes. 

“Ramona! How’s progress coming on finding us an into St. Ethel-whatever?” Bierce called down the hall, though, she received no response from Ramona. “Ramona?” Bierce asked again, knocking, and receiving no response. It was four in the afternoon; she was not sleeping. Bierce found herself opening her door, knowing damn well that this was her house and she could do as she pleased. 

The bed was made up, Ramona was not napping into the afternoon. However, nowhere else in the room was occupied, either. Everything was tucked away neatly, aside from the piles of information and books stacked precariously on her desk. Bierce took a step into the room, closing the door behind her. She let her hand trail along the finished surface of the other’s dresser, taking a moment to pick up a framed picture. An image of what Bierce could only assume to be Ramona as a child, a proud mom and dad. No siblings in the image. She had never asked her about her family, it had never crossed her mind, and now this factor seemed to put pressure on Bierce’s shoulders.   
Bierce sat the frame back down, finally noticing where Ramona had been stationed. She was outside, sitting on the balcony in a lounger, papers in her hands as she looked over information relevant to their situation. Bierce slid open the sliding glass door, Ramona jumping slightly, though she settled back into the lounger quickly. The sundress she wore was blue. Akin to the sky, not the whales that swam deep in the sea. Bierce took notice as she sat in the accompanying lounger, looking over at the other as they both took in the sun. The balcony overlooked the garden, life blooming in all different forms thanks to her team of landscapers. How long had it been since she had been able to admire it? 

“Anything new to tell me, or are you just enjoying your time in the sun?” Bierce asked, happy to lean back for a quick moment after hunching over other’s work all day. 

“Pry much?” Ramona asked, looking over at her with a smirk. “Of course, I’ve always got useful information to tell you. The world isn’t flat, the world war we had could have been prevented, selling your soul for fame and killing your husband won’t make you hap--” 

“Nothing I haven’t heard so far. Anything about the church we’re hurried off to in a few days here?” Bierce asked, the attempt at humour having, of course, humoured her. They were both now curled onto their sides, basking in the sun as they made eye contact. Bierce’s hair, platinum in its blondness, reflected the sun and shone in it. While Ramona’s hair seemed to absorb the sun with its darker nature, her curls falling against the fabric of the chair. 

“Organized religions can often be bought. You’re lucky I have contacts for you to draw from, otherwise, you’d be stuck.” Ramona took a holier than thou approach to this sentence, toying with Bierce. 

“We all knew that. I’m forever indebted to you. If I get my soul back from Malak, I’ll be sure to give it to you. Contacts, hmm? In contact with your contacts that quickly?” 

“I’ve my ways, Helen. Now, I can get us access to places in the old building we usually would not be able to sneak around in. However, they’re tight-lipped when it comes to the past of the place. Potentially something about... A demon.” Ramona held for suspense. She was sure that Bierce would appreciate this information. “I’m glad to say I might’ve been wrong about Ben’s lead, Bierce.” 

“A demon. But we have no clue if this demon was Malak, or if they’re simply lying. Or, even if it was Malak, it could have nothing to do with the Riddle of Heaven.” Bierce scowled, knowing that this lead could still wind up being empty. “However, you are the only one that actually managed to get anywhere in their poking and prodding. I commend you, and I’m glad we’re closer to finding the ring than we were a few minutes ago.” 

“I try. I still hope he’s wrong. What else would I be doing with my time aside from bugging you about how soon your soul is going to be in the clutches of a demon? Move on with my life? Family, settle into a job that isn’t, by description, bizarre? Sounds boring to me.” Ramona seemed somewhat nostalgic over their time together. The trip to Tibet had been weeks into their time together, the crew having researched that entire time to ensure that they were on the right path. 

A laugh akin to a snort escaped Bierce. If it were with anyone else, she would be embarrassed. Not Ramona. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t having some fun. You all know how to keep me on my toes. Especially you.” Bierce offered a grin to her, reflecting on their time. “I suppose I’ll miss you all, too.” 

Ramona stayed silent for a moment, though, her curiosity got the better of her after the silence ran too long. “What do you want to do with the ring, Bierce? I know that the obvious choice is to retain your soul. But, from my studies... You could use this power to become a god yourself. Or a demon.” Ramona mulled over her words carefully, hoping that the answer she received would be worth her asking. “Do you have other plans in mind? Should I start bowing to the regime of Bierce now, where we all watch your films and worship you?” 

Bierce laughed aloud, a long, booming laugh that settled over the trees in the courtyard. “No. Though, it sounds tempting. Life is what I was... Well, what I had in mind at first. You’re the first I’ve told this, but I have no clue what I’ll do when I have that ring in my clutches. Will the demonic nature of the ring control me into the bidding it wants? Or, will I be able to make my decision with a clear mind?” Bierce’s demeanour became serious for a quick moment. “That is why I must be the first to hold it. God knows what Ben would do with the powers of a demon.” 

“I worry more about Rosemary. She would have us all stuffed into the deepest pit of hell for this journey we’ve dragged her through. Especially after she had to hold your hair when you got si-” 

“Wait, when exactly did this happen?” Bierce cut in, unaware of the events of that night at all aside from their conversation. 

“Oh. I forgot that you weren’t exactly in the best mind. The noises you were making woke us both, and we were afraid that you were going to... Well, drown in your own vomit. Not exactly the death a glamorous celebrity deserves, no?” Ramona asked, still a bit sheepish about the fact that she had to help Bierce through a particularly vulnerable time. “You were lying face down on the floor. It was hilarious, and kind of sad.” 

“... Oh. Well. I suppose I’m grateful. Though, part of me is rather embarrassed in the fact that you’ve seen me both plastered and dealing with the uncomfortable side effects.” Bierce had gone dark once more, a common theme for the day. She was supposed to be better than this, better than the bottom of the bottle. Malak was getting the upper hand every day she let herself fall into despair. 

“It’s really no problem,” Ramona brushed it off easily, setting down her important papers. “I’m here to help you. Though, the job description didn’t mention that you were a hopeless alcoholic that sold her soul. I don’t really get that impression of you when I’m watching you up on the screen, you only get the glamour coming through.” 

“I don’t tend to advertise it, Ramona. It would be bad for business.” Bierce’s laugh was hollow, almost as if it hurt her to be in the state she was in. “It was a lot easier to have a drink at night before I brought Malak into my life. Though... I suppose that aside from the fame, Malak did bring me one piece of good.” 

“Oh?” Ramona raised her brow in question. 

“I got to meet you lot, and torment you with my endless tasks.” Bierce stated proudly, rolling back onto her back to bask in the sun once more. Ramona rolled her eyes in response, happy to sit silently next to the other. She had exhausted her mental capacity for planning momentarily, and it felt good to absorb vitamin D. 

Bierce, being fine to skip dinner, sat and made idle chat about a myriad of topics with her employee as the sky began to turn a colour akin to the shades of fall, the sun setting in the east. It was seven in the evening before they had even realized how long they had been at it. Bierce, knowing that Norman would be teasing her extensively at the long passage of time they had both been sitting together, and Bierce almost cared. 

“... Ramona?” 

“Yes?” Ramona asked, having now sat up, slightly sunburnt. Not to a painful extent, only sun-kissed. 

“I saw the image of you and your family. You’ve never spoken of them, though you’ve brought a picture of them to a temporary living arrangement. They mean something to you, though you don’t talk about them.” 

Ramona smiled, turning her eyes toward Bierce as she spoke jokingly. “Yeah. You’re very observant, aren’t you? You should’ve been a PI.” She sighed, now looking down. “They’re not exactly around anymore. Not that I haven’t made my peace with it, I just enjoy keeping their memory around. I’m a sentimental sap, Bierce. The sappiest.” 

“That’s not what I would’ve thought when I first saw you. You wear your skin like iron, you keep yourself steady in the face of peril, or in the face of my tantrums. I doubt you would’ve admitted this to me before, either.” Bierce continued to contemplate the nature of this admission before Ramona cut back in. 

“Again, very, very observational.” Ramona remarked, standing, and turning to the door. “Come on, I’m making you eat again.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do, Ramona.” Bierce swung her legs over the side of the lounger, standing, placing her hands on her hips. She was not about to deny Ramona’s request, though. She followed her off the balcony, back into her room. She caught another glance at the photo on Ramona’s dresser as they exited the room, not able to understand the other’s connection. 

The night went as well as expected. Bierce did not see the rest of the crew for the rest of the day, aside from Ramona. Bierce was somewhat tired from her time in the sun, and from her experience earlier in the Ballroom. Having had to walk back through the ballroom was easier with Ramona, as she was able to distract herself with conversation. Ramona had even gotten Bierce to eat once more, a feat that she had completed multiple times now. Proving Malak right every time, Bierce cursing him in her mind with every bite. This was for her to stay alive, not for Ramona’s peace of mind or to fulfill Malak’s stupid words. After this, she was glad to retire early, thinking she may get some proper sleep tonight. She had not had a drink all day, and she was feeling fine. Having bounced back after the hallucinations of her demon, something she thought she was incapable of. 

Bierce bid Ramona goodnight, leaving her to sit out on the veranda alone. With new mental strength from this realization, Bierce found herself falling asleep as soon as she laid down and her head contacted the pillow. It was an incredible feeling, a rare one. To fall into sheets and have them be welcoming and accepting rather than a hostile prison for her nightmares. Her mood often swung from yearning for death to struggling to stay alive, and right now neither of those mattered. The act of sleeping for survival was all that was on her mind, and it was a damn good feeling. 

The knife came down multiple times, driving itself deep into the barely living chest of the sacrifice. Bierce had decided to stop the ritual before it had become too late. Through the silly words she chanted in Latin echoing around the room, the thunder booming outside, it was still too much to take a human life. Though these thoughts went through her mind, the knife still brought itself down. The sacrifice begged for her life, wrapped tightly in white sheets being stained with blood, the cries echoing through the ballroom in a guttural, sputtering in cohesion. Crimson soaked into her slippers, splattering the floor, the room smelt of rust and red. The thunder clapped once more, Bierce finally finding the willpower to throw the knife aside as the pleading from the sacrifice ceased, leaving her in silence aside from the rain pounding through the open window. 

“I want... I want to be famous. Stardom. I want to be irresistible to the studios, I want everyone to sign me.” Bierce had spoken the way she had previously practiced, knowing she had to be precise with the demon. The words were now a slur of confusion, to remember exactly what she spoke was impossible. He loomed above her on the stairs, his eyeless face boring into her as she spoke. She tried not to show her fear, though it was difficult. 

Malak offered Bierce seven years and a day before her soul was forfeit to him. Seven years and a day to live out the fantasy she had killed for. Seven years and a day to live in the limelight she had so craved. She told him that he was welcome to it, bitter from the action she had taken into her hands, both them and her nightclothes stained with the blood of an innocent. 

Bierce stood in a puddle of blood, hearing it still drip from the body on the platform in front of the stairs. She had killed someone. Taken a life too soon, willingly, for a demon. 

Bierce knew she had to clean up her actions; the help would not know about this. They could not know about this, as Bierce would be committed and tried in a court of law. She leant to pick up the body, holding it in her arms with ease. It was light. It was warm and could still be alive if the blood it had contained was not all over the floor. Bierce held it to her chest, unable to make any movement, other than her incessant shaking. She had committed an atrocity, and she was walking over to the garbage chute as if she had not. 

The time she spent holding the body in her arms must have been hours. It slowly grew colder, and Bierce hoped to feel it breathe. It did not, it never once stirred in her grasp, and Bierce’s thoughts ran circles around her. It may have taken hours, but she let the body fall down the shoot, her arms still extended as she watched the body fall into darkness. 

Bierce returned to the shimmering pool of blood, the lightning reflecting off the metallic liquid. She knelt with a rag, feeling much like Lady Macbeth attempting to clean the blood of an innocent off her own hands. Facing her own reflection in the blood beneath her, seeing the blood next to her hands still bathed in it, she began to scream as the thunder roared. Shrieking at the realization, her humanity overcoming her. What had she done? How could she have done this? She was a demon herself in the actions she had taken, how could she react with any less emotion than this? 

Bierce awoke on the cold floor of the ballroom, in front of the stairs, Ramona on her knees next to the woman that was lying in the fetal position. She had shaken her from the nightmare, saving her from the past’s influence over her thoughts. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared me... You went to bed; how did you get down here?” Ramona bombarded her with questions before she discovered the presence of tears in the corner of Bierce’s eyes. Bierce did not cry, Bierce got angry, Bierce threw objects and screamed. Bierce was on the ground, reveling in sheer terror. Her body quaked as she looked up to Ramona, quickly wiping the tears away, scrambling away from the other. 

“I apologize.” Bierce quickly said, standing as if she were a fawn learning to stand for the first time. Her legs were gelatin, and her mind was not much better. “That... That usually does not happen. I have... No clue what I’m doing here.” Bierce was truthful, brushing off her nightclothes, attempting to downplay the situation. 

“Bierce. You could’ve woken the whole mansion, you’re screaming like a banshee in the middle of your manor, something’s wrong.” Ramona gripped both of Bierce’s shoulders, her eyes meeting Bierce’s fearful gaze. “Was it Malak? Was he toying with you?” 

“Sort of.” Bierce began, though her body was so tired, her mind was so broken, cohesion was not her strong suit currently. “I just need to go back to bed. I need to go back to sleep...” She was delirious, pushing slightly past Ramona in her zombie-like state, dark rings below her eyes. She was so drained, and it showed. 

Ramona followed quickly behind. “Hold on there. I know you might not want to talk about it, but I’m still going to make sure you don’t break down on your way to your room. You could have another episode.” Ramona was dead serious as she spoke, and though Bierce grumbled an upset response, she did not push her away. 

The empty halls of the manor at night were eerie, even in Bierce’s state. Though, Ramona pushed on with her, and soothed her anxious mind. Bierce had never allowed Ramona into her private quarters, as there was never any need. She did not mind right now, maybe having someone to keep the demons of her past away for another hour or so. Ramona opened the door for her, taking in the atmosphere Bierce kept in her room. It was well decorated, pictures of Bierce’s many accomplishments, some persisting of her husband, though most had been taken care of. 

Bierce sat on the bed, looking up at Ramona for a moment. She had a burning thought in the back of her mind, and she wanted to ask for Ramona’s honest opinion. “Do you believe that people can atone for their sins, that they can make them right, no matter how heinous?” 

Ramona seemed to mull this over for a moment. “Depends on the crime, Bierce. Murder, rape, genocide... All of these things are pretty bad. I think the only way you can atone is to make it better in that case, and there’s limited options for making them better. You can’t magically bring people back in most cases of murder, you can’t undo rape. Genocide falls in with murder.” Ramona was straightforward with her thought process, though this continued to make Bierce think. “You were the one that told me you needed to go back to be. Sleep, Bierce. You’re asking hypotheticals I don’t have the answers to.” 

“You’re always telling me what to do.” Bierce’s eyes, tired and dark, met Ramona’s, before she looked back down. “Why were you still up? As you said, it’s late.” 

“General insomnia, I’ve told you about it. Plus, some night terrors from time to time, much like a celebrity I know rather well.” Ramona noted the wood of the bed’s canopy. She had never even seen a bed with a canopy.

“... Do you think you’ll be up much longer?” 

“Well... Probably. Why?” Ramona cocked an eyebrow, rather perplexed at this line of questioning. 

“I don’t want to wake anyone with my screaming. I don’t want the others to know... I’m in such a sorry state. They’ll worry about me, or they’ll think I’m losing my mind.” Bierce was truthful in the moment, vulnerable in her words and gaze. “To think that I’m even saying this is ridiculous. It makes me sound like a child, though most of the time you’ve known me, I’ve been as pitiful as one. Lost and listless, taken in by fame and fear. Left in a pathetic state for a woman of status.” Bierce spat, curling her knees to her chest, her chin resting on them as she hugged her legs. 

“You can say whatever you’d like to me, I mean, you’ve already admitted to two murders and dabbling in satanic forces. Not much else I can’t handle.” Ramona continued an attempt at keeping it light, but her strength in that area was fading. The sombre mood was overtaking them both, and Bierce could see it in her eyes. 

“Would you... Make sure that I do not get up and roam the halls again? I believe I may be able to rest again if I know I won’t cause another disturbance,” Bierce’s hands gripped the fabric of her nightgown tightly, it was difficult for her to ask the other, beyond embarrassing. “Just until you feel you can go to sleep. I mean, if you’re awake anyway... It may help to soothe the demons and force them back into the recesses of my mind if you’re here.” 

“You’re asking me to keep watch for your night terrors, Bierce. You’re asking me to sit at the foot of the bed as if I can physically fight your demons?” Ramona was still acting critical about the request. 

“No, no. More like... Just talk with me, really. I’ll be honest, I’m afraid to go back to sleep. Having someone else here, I’ve never exactly... Tried that remedy for a bad night’s sleep.” Bierce’s face was practically glowing as she spoke, unable to hide the shame she put on herself for even admitting this. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll grab you a glass of warm milk and tuck you in, maybe a story?” Ramona tried again, nervous about agreeing with the other. How would that even work? Would the others talk if Ramona was caught leaving Bierce’s room in the middle of the night? Yet, Bierce was in such a state of despair that Ramona would feel bad leaving her. Talking with Bierce in a setting where they were both emotionally available sounded enjoyable, if not for the potential stigma around it from the rest of the house. 

“You’re being a jerk.” Bierce frowned, grabbing a pillow, and whapping Ramona in the face with it. Without, of course, hurting her. 

“Hey! Stop it! I’ll stay, I’ll stay!” Ramona laughed, Bierce joining in with quiet laughter as she beat her with the pillow. Ramona usually knew how to get a chuckle out of her, even if it took many attempts. “If you wanted to have a slumber party pillow fight, you could’ve just told me, damn...” Ramona sighed, leaning against the pillar of the canopy. “I’ll just sit here, and you can talk about all your traumas while you drift off.” 

“... Thank you.” Bierce crossed her arms again, knitting her brow together again to fake her disappointment. The façade slowly dissolved, and Bierce looked down at her lap again. “I’m... I find myself seeing the ritual again. I feel as if I am performing it again,” Bierce curled her legs underneath of herself, finding a comfy spot to sit on the bed. “I feel the blood slick against my hands,” she looked down to both her hands as she spoke, her eyes now closing. “Not a day goes by that I don’t see a still, as if my brain has taken a picture.” 

Ramona allowed the other to reflect on her words, now turning to face the other as they rearranged themselves, her legs crossed, her back still pressed into the wood of the canopy. “You still have yet to elaborate on this ritual.” 

“Well, it’s not exactly something I’d love to relive in every gory detail. I already do that multiple times a day in both waking and sleeping hours.” Bierce shot back, though her hesitation was not as strong as before. “It’s as if it was filmed on a camera, Ramona. Shot for shot. As if I was acting in the greatest role of my career. One in which the director was a demon, and the emotions are real.” Bierce’s hands now shook, her right hand closing as if she were holding the knife. “A knife from the kitchen, the sacrifice, Latin circling around the room as I chanted. I memorized my script by heart...” 

“You’ve never told me... The nature of the sacrifice themselves. How did you find someone that Malak would want, a sacrifice that fit his criteria that nobody would miss?” Ramona filled the silence left by the other’s reminiscing, having asked her this question in other ways before. 

“I... I-” Bierce became choked, curling her knees back into her chest. “I can’t. I can’t talk about it. Not only does it make me sick, you’ll also leave. Not only this room, but you’re going to give up on me.” Bierce let the honesty spill from her mouth, knowing that it was not what the other was looking for, and could raise more questions than answers. “I wonder if I’m beyond redemption often, and I think you’ll give me the answer if you know what I’ve done.” 

Ramona stopped, mulling over the words. She met the other’s gaze with a strange, steady look, before nodding. “I understand your hesitation. I mean, I’d requote the fact that you’ve already confessed to two murders, but, if you think it’s much worse than that... I understand why you wouldn’t want to share it. I mean,” Ramona waited, seemingly searching her brain for the right words. “I’m still here despite that. You... You’ve had your reasons. You’re trying to fix everything. Why wouldn’t I give you a chance?” 

This kept Bierce quiet, her vision still downcast. She mumbled a “Thank you” into her knees, though she did not move. Ramona visibly huffed, moving to sit beside her. She set a hand on her shoulder and allowed them both to sit in silence. Bierce practiced her breathing, remembering to keep her wits about her. She did not want to dissolve into a puddle of her emotions, even though Ramona was the one she would likely confide those emotions in. 

“So. Malak. What was he like when you met him?” Ramona asked, trying to turn Bierce’s attention toward something other than the sacrifice themself. 

“Well... He’s something. He’s a force to be reckoned with, yet, I find myself taunting him when I can. He’s a strange entity indeed, always wearing his suit, usually unphased. He gets rather angry if you get the upper hand, though. That’s why he’s been visiting me in the night, I suppose. Working hand in hand with my conscience, telling me that I’m evil.” Bierce allowed herself a long sigh, wishing he would take a night off. 

“Oh? He’s been in your nightmares, too?” 

“... Too? You’re having nightmares of Malak?” 

Ramona seemed frustrated that she had given herself away. Bierce turned to her with a serious look, almost upset that Malak was permeating the lives of people around her. 

“He has been, I suppose. That’s my fault. It’s my fault for dragging you, and the others of course, into my demonic nightmare.” Bierce was upset with herself more than Malak, knowing this was her doing. This was her torch to bare, it was not theirs’. 

“Hey, I would’ve left if I didn’t want to be right here,” Ramona ensured her, squeezing her shoulder. “I want to be here with you right now. I don’t want to leave because of some demon thinking he can scare me. You’ve met him face to face, and you’re still here. I doubt you could hold your own against a wet noodle, let alone a demon in hand to hand. I feel that I’ve got a good chance against this devil.” 

Bierce let out a breathy laugh at this, though it was laced with a level of sadness. “I wish you didn’t have to deal with him at all. I wish I didn’t have to. But it’s what I’ve done to myself by inviting him to have at my soul. I just worry that he may make me hurt you. And-- of course. The others.” Bierce quickly added, deathly afraid of hurting them. 

“I don’t think Malak can influence you in that way, he’s a stickler for the rules from what you’ve told me, and his contract gave you seven years to do as you please,” Ramona remarked, not afraid of Bierce in the slightest. She could not hurt her, and even though she had hurt others in the past, she could not imagine Bierce hurting anyone. 

“I feel... It might be that I was just selfish, it could be that I am not evil. But I’m convinced that I wanted to stop, I’m convinced that I tried to turn away from the sacrifice and something drew me back. Part of me wants to believe it was him, that I’m not so despicable.” Bierce seemed lost in these thoughts, her mind still swimming from her previous encounter with her past. 

“Hey,” Ramona started, now moving to hug around Bierce’s shoulders. Bierce froze, though she did not try to move away from human contact. She sunk into it after a moment of confusion, her brain settling. “I think you’re trying to make things right. You’re just... You made a lot of mistakes. But like I said. People can't atone for some really shitty things, unless of course, they can change the course of history.” Ramona rest her chin on the other’s shoulder, her curly hair tickling Bierce’s jaw. “I’m not leaving till you can fix it. I’m not leaving.” 

Bierce’s eyes welled up with tears, and she began to shake. She stayed silent during this episode, trying to keep these emotions away from Ramona. She was supposed to be strong and cold, not breaking like a toy too roughly handled. She sold her soul, she killed, she was not supposed to be soft. 

“You’re not leaving,” Bierce repeated, taking a deep breath, wiping away the tears that had filled her eyes. “Thank you for making me get all mushy, Ramona. You’re fired.” Bierce joked though it was hard to have any jovial tone to her voice. 

“You can’t fire me,” Ramona spoke, removing her hands from the other. “I quit.” Her joke had the same tone as the other. 

Bierce found herself both emotionally and physically exhausted from their conversation. She moved off the bed to settle under her comforter, nestling in as she rests her head on the pillow. “You’re sure you don’t mind staying? You can leave if you’d like, I promise that I’ll be fine if you leave... It was wrong of me to play on your emotions to get you to stay.” 

“Bierce. I’m not leaving.” Ramona looked at her, repeating a phrase that had so little meaning on its own. It had so much meaning for Bierce in this moment, and she hid under the comforter to hide the growing redness to her face. Ramona had initially been leaning against the headboard, though, she slunk down to lay, looking Bierce in the eye. 

“... Is there anything else we could talk about that won’t turn me into a blubbering mess? Tell me about... I don’t know. Do you think there’s a chance that anything could be going on between Ben and Rosemary? Normal gossip?” 

Ramona rolled her eyes so hard they nearly rolled out of her head. “I swear, if a man and a woman even stand next to each other, they have to be seeing each other?” 

“I didn’t think so, either. Ben’s too insufferable for someone that wholesome.” Bierce thought aloud, “And I doubt Norman has anything going on.” 

“It’s ridiculous that we even think this way, it’s like assuming that you and I are in a relationship because of all the time we spend together.” Ramona’s face had darkened once more as well, realizing what she had implied. They were lying next to each other in a bed after a very emotionally vulnerable moment. It could lead to speculation. 

“Well- Who’s saying that? Is anyone implying that at all?” Bierce spoke quickly, near frantic as she hid further under the blanket. “I mean, that’s laughable. Just laugh at anyone that implies that there are any romantic feelings at all between anyone in this group. Especially not. That one.” Bierce concluded her bizarre statement, much to the amusement of Ramona. 

“You’re speaking ten million miles a minute, Bierce.” Ramona rest her head against her own pillow, though she had not settled under the comforter. She was still under the assumption that she was going to leave once she got tired enough to try for sleep. Though, it was somewhat chilly in the room. And she curled up a little tighter to try and keep herself warm. “It’s almost as if you have something to hide. You and Ben?” Ramona knew that this was far from the truth, but it was still nice to watch Bierce fly off the handle with a reaction to something laughable. 

“I would sooner walk into Hell myself and hand-deliver my soul to Malak early than even think about it. I married a man once, though it was entirely for money and stardom. It worked for the considerable fortune I’ve inherited, but, he’s dead and buried.” Bierce spoke about it as if it was jaywalking she had committed. “I mean. He was an awful person, committed much more murder than I did with his little play pretend in the garden. I suppose that makes me an accomplice, but...” Bierce sighed once more. Her life was really fucked up, was it not? 

“Yeah. It doesn’t seem that love and relationships are your strong suit.” Ramona snickered, her eyes becoming heavier, but she ignored this. 

“I didn’t say love was completely off the tabl--” Bierce cut herself off, noticing that the other seemed a bit chilled. “You can get under the blankets. I don’t bite, you kn— Well. Maybe that’s not the best example. I’m not exactly an innocent woman in the way of hurting people.” 

“For all of that practice as an actress and PR training, you don’t have the greatest track record with words when you’re around me.” Ramona decided to join her under the covers. They were friends now, their secrets had been somewhat aired, and they did not have much to lose. 

“Yes, because I usually have a script and a team of writers making sure I don’t look like an idiot. Around you I paint myself as the court jester, either sloshed out of my mind or in a state of depression.” Bierce turned toward the pillow to muffle the snicker that followed. It felt nice to not worry if her hair fell perfectly or if her lipstick smudged; Ramona did not care about Bierce’s perfections. To recognize how imperfect Bierce was one of the reasons Ramona was the most important person in her life at this moment, not that she would ever admit it. 

“Movie sets must be hell. Especially costarring with you, what, with all of your tantrums.” Ramona hugged the pillow underneath her. Bierce could feel Ramona’s breathing through the movement of the mattress, and the human connection at the moment was much better than the visits from Malak that were usually going on at this hour. 

“Well... You might be right. You’re... Completely right, actually. One time I was starring opposite to James Cagney, my first role after I met our friendly demon. So, they were making some last-minute revisions to the script...” Bierce began, recounting a story of her first starring role. Ramona listened attentively, as Bierce did have a way with words. Compelling as she spoke, drawing the listener in. 

They spoke until the early hours of the morning, as they had earlier in the day. Bierce had long forgotten her anger toward Malak for his implication, and her displeasure with Norman for bringing it up. 

Genuine human connection was something she Bierce craved fiercely, and through this long conversation, as though the others, she was learning how to accept it once again.


	7. Every detail is still etched in my mind, as though it happened only last night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bierce wakes in the morning to a surprise, Ben has something to say, and Bierce trips in the garden.

The sunlight filtered through the fabric of her curtains, and the heat of the rays warmed Bierce as they tickled her cheek. A dreamless sleep, offering her a level of rest she had not received in years. The bed was a mistress in which she could settle comfortably, instead of a force of torment and dread. Sleep was welcome, not shunned. A smile crossed her unpainted lips, consciousness stirring in her, though part of her wished to continue her slumber. She had no clue when she would get sleep like this again, and though she was half asleep, this factor was apparent. 

Bierce’s chest rose and fell, and it steadily quickened as she began to rise from sleep. Her eyes took their time in opening, and she could only guess at why her sleep had been so successful. Alcohol had not been a factor, nor had any other substance. Her surroundings were warm and inviting, the bed, the blanket. Everything smells like vanilla, which was not the scent she wore, nor what her sheets usually smelt like. She could feel the movement of another, one that she held onto tightly, one that held on to her. This was when Bierce’s eyes opened. 

Ramona did not leave, as she had promised. Though this was not exactly what Bierce had in mind. Her head was resting against Ramona’s chest, listening to her persistent heartbeat and every breath. Ramona’s chin was rest atop of Bierce’s nest of platinum blonde hair; her arms wrapped around her to keep her held down to Earth, to keep her from floating away. Whether this was an unconscious decision by them both, whether they decided within their own minds that they needed to embrace, it did not matter. Bierce did not move away; she simply continued to breathe and enjoy the morning sunlight. She could not care less about the ramifications or the strangeness of the scenario. Being nestled in someone else’s arms, even if she was not a man, it was all she could have asked to wake up to. 

Bierce must have stayed in this state for the better part of an hour, not needing to rush off to work on her search for the Riddle of Heaven. Not needing to catch up with the others on how their work was going. This was where she needed to be. Though, this came with its own set of confusing feelings and thoughts. She considered Ramona a friend, but was she more than a friend? Was this encounter completely platonic? Was the encounter on the plane platonic? Bierce could not tell. Ramona was not the kind of person to outwardly admit if it was. Neither was Bierce. 

Time did come for Ramona to open her eyes, and upon finding herself buried in Bierce’s mane, she seemed to tense. Though, Bierce’s arms were also wrapped around her, so they were left in a bind. Who would move away first, and who would disrupt this embrace? It was more competitive than it was wholesome now, a normative part of their unspoken bond. 

Bierce, reluctantly, allowed the other to see that her eyes were open, communicating that she was aware of the situation and consenting. While that was a relief, they knew they may need to start their respective days. They had a lot of work to do, and none of it would get done if they were lying in bed. The strangeness of this encounter was not lost on either of them, but neither of them seemed particularly bothered. 

“So. Chalk it up to being completely platonic and make sure nobody sees us leave the room at the same time?” Bierce spoke first, her words warm as the travelled along the other’s skin. To turn it into a joke was the only mechanism she could use to make herself feel less awkward. 

“I mean, either way, I think we should do this more often. I’ve not slept that well in years.” Ramona remarked, having become confident, Bierce assuming this was because she had yet to put distance between her and the other. 

“... I’ll admit, it was a good sleep.” Bierce hesitated to speak on it, but, what had she to lose in this situation? Nobody was watching, except maybe Malak. 

Malak. Now, he would have a field day with her when they spoke next. A rousing round of “I told you so’s” from a demon, something Bierce could not wait for. Whatever, at least she had someone to keep her company. Malak only had damned souls, which would soon include her if they did not get to work. With hesitation, Bierce began to pull away, sitting on the edge of the bed. She missed the other’s arms already, the cold piercing her very essence, regardless of the sun cascading through the room. 

“What... What is this, Ramona?” Bierce asked, hanging her head as she spoke. “Is this because we spend so much time together, is this because we care about each other, or is this because I’m lonely and depressed?” 

“It’s likely that both play a hand,” Ramona began, now sitting up. She cocked her head to the side, thinking. “But does it really matter if we’re all going to die? Some sooner than others?” 

“Wow. That’s rather grim, Ramona. Even more so than my statement, if I may make that judgement.” Bierce removed her head from her hands to look back at Ramona, though it was followed with another chuckle. Bierce then stood, and turned to her armoire, opening it. Not that she was going anywhere, but she still took pride in looking nice. “I don’t completely mind... We’re in rather dark times together. I mean, I might have my soul on the line, but you’ve got to put up with me.” 

“I don’t particularly mind that, either,” Ramona responded, standing as well, looking in the mirror of the other’s sleek vanity. “You’re paying me to put up with you, and while I could be run off in my off time, I’m still here with you. No matter what it means to either of us, I suppose it’s what we’ve got.” Ramona concluded, and Bierce found it to be somewhat poetic. 

“This is not exactly something we can be casual with, though. I mean, cuddling is one thing, and though it was quite enjoyable, and I’d love to be able to say, ‘Oh, Ramona and I had a completely platonic snuggle session last night’, but that isn’t exactly something we’re allowed to speak abou--” Bierce’s sentence was stopped, and she jumped as she heard a knocking at the door. 

Ramona and Bierce shared a knowing look. This would look suspicious at best, especially now that Bierce smelt like Ramona’s vanilla-scented perfume from being nestled together for the entire night. Ramona looked around the room, attempting to find a way out of the situation. 

“Coming!” Bierce called to the person behind the door, before turning to Ramona and speaking through gritted teeth. “Into the closet. Now.” She whispered, motioning toward the closet. The irony of the situation was not lost on her, but she had no time to appreciate it. Ramona gladly hopped into the cavern of different fabrics and textures, closing the door behind her. Bierce, smoothing down her nightclothes, attempting to normalize herself. 

As Bierce opened the door, she found herself looking down at Rosemary, who looked back up at her with a look of uncertainty. Bierce was quiet for a moment, knowing she could just send her away. Though, that look in her eye made Bierce wish to speak. “Come in, I suppose. You’re already here.” Bierce moved, allowing Rosemary to enter the room. She wanted to remain inconspicuous, though she found her eyes darting toward the closet. 

“Thank you, Bierce. I... I wanted to ask you something. It’s... A weird question, but not unrelated to what we’ve been doing.” Rosemary walked into the room, turning on her heel in order to face Bierce once again. She would not be long, so she did not bother to sit. “I’ve been seeing visions. For a few weeks.” She began, her tired eyes not quite hidden behind her spectacles, which she pushed up the bridge of her nose. “Visions of who I assume to be Malak.” 

“Oh? Well... I mean, it’s not exactly uncommon. I’ve... Heard reports from others on our team that they’ve had similar experiences. I can’t say I haven’t, either...” Bierce admitted, somewhat shocked that Rosemary had been impacted by Malak. 

“Does this mean that we’re going crazy?” Rosemary asked quickly, her hands wringing together, subtly shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her eyes did not meet Bierce’s as she spoke, and Bierce could tell this was bothering her. 

Bierce listened with genuine concern, knowing that when she first started experiencing the guilt from her encounter with Malak, she had the same thoughts. To think she was descending into madness bothered Bierce, why would it not bother Rosemary? Though, she did not want Rosemary to worry about her mental wellbeing. Bierce knew that as soon as the team was rid of her, Malak would leave them be. She allowed herself a laugh, her eyes softening. 

“Love,” Bierce began, setting a hand on the other’s shoulder, “You’re not going mad. He’s toying with you, trying to get you to quit. If he’s too much for you, I understand. Though, you’re a lot stronger than some obscure demon. You’re stronger than I am most of the time. You’ve had him implanting your mind with upsetting, false memories for weeks, and you still have held on. Most of the time, I find them impacting me.” 

“You never show it, Bierce,” Rosemary responded, still looking downtrodden. Bierce wished to console her further, though, another glance toward the closet made her realize that she should probably hurry this along. 

“Well... I’m going to get ready for the day, Rosemary. If it starts to bother you again, feel free to come talk to me. Nobody knows this struggle better than me.” Bierce smiled, though she implied that Rosemary should leave. 

Rosemary nodded, moving back toward the door. “Thank you. I...” She turned back Bierce, now offering her the cheery smile she was known for. “I used to be afraid of you. You’re intimidating, tall. You were cold at first. But, you’re nothing but a big softie, aren’t you?” 

“OUT.” Bierce scowled, though her tone was very light, and she was obviously joking. Rosemary laughed at this, closing the door behind her, allowing Bierce to breathe a sigh of relief. She let her forehead fall against the wood of her door as the weight on her shoulders slid off. “You can come out now, Ramona.” 

Ramona stumbled out of the closet, tangled up in a long evening gown, unable to get herself freed from the fabric. “... Little help?” 

Bierce cocked an eyebrow, the corner of her lips flicking up in a smirk. “How in the hell did you do that?” 

“If I knew, I’d likely not be in a chokehold by one of your gowns! Help!” Ramona was cross with Bierce for putting her in the closet in the first place, and she somewhat flailed as she attempted to free herself from the serpent made from silk. 

“Relax,” Bierce began, closing the gap between Ramona and herself, working on the tangles of fabric that Ramona had become trapped in. “I know, there’s a lot of clothes to get lost in. Part of being a famous socialite.” 

“I don’t think falling victim to an evening gown is something that should be normalized.” Ramona had calmed down, letting Bierce work. How the length of the sleeves had become knotted, Bierce had not the faintest idea. She realized how close they were once again, though she did not make any attempt to move away, nor did Ramona. “How do we falling into the same situations, wrapped up in different packaging?” 

“Maybe we just have a magnetic attraction?” Though the term attraction was not romantically implied, Ramona found her face darkening once again, her gaze falling away from Bierce. 

“Who’s attracted to anybody? I’ve not stated any attraction, at all, and to imply that is hearsay and I will bring you to justice in a court of law for slandering my good name.” Bierce’s words were not serious, though she was still trying to save face. Her hands were becoming clumsier as she spoke. 

“If I was to say that you weren’t an attractive woman, I’d be lying through my teeth and I’d feel bad,” Ramona admitted, having managed to keep her own hesitation at bay. “You are attractive, Bierce. I can’t lie.” 

Bierce managed to unravel the remainder of the fabric as the other said this. Admirers had said it before, sure. But her admirers and diehard fans were not Ramona. Not someone taken up in the glamour, nor the fame. Bierce went bright red, balling up the dress and throwing it toward the closet quickly, her movements erratic. The other’s words were playing terrible tricks on her mind, coupled with the fact that they had just woken next to each other. Bierce stared straight down at the ground; her hands balled into fists as she attempted to calm the fire burning behind her cheeks. 

“... Thanks for freeing me, ‘love’.” Ramona said, stealing a term Bierce commonly used. “I should leave before we end up writing the scandal ourselves.” Ramona was nonchalant in her words, having found some new confidence, likely in bringing Bierce to silence. She often had something to respond with, and now she was left silent. 

“I’m trying to determine whether Malak’s the demon, or you.” Bierce managed to retort as the other was halfway out the door, hoping that she would not tell anyone about her weakness. She would not expect it from Ramona, as she was rather respectable. Bierce could only stand there, unable to find any way to truly express her confusing emotions. 

Ramona simply chuckled, closing the door behind her. Bierce fell face first onto her bed, screaming full force into a pillow, muffling the strange game of tug of war in her brain. This woman had sold her soul to a demon, this woman had murdered others. Yet, to be faced with a situation so soft and intimate as this, she could not comprehend it in her brain. It took her quite a while to recover, though she managed to stand and replace her nightclothes with something respectable for the day. Light makeup followed, Bierce mainly avoiding the mirror, fretting Malak’s return to poke fun at her for her feelings. To see the terrifying queen of the silver screen reduced to an aloof schoolgirl that had just passed a note to her crush, Bierce refused to let Malak chide her for it without making him work for it. 

Bierce skipped breakfast again, much to the dismay of Ramona. Instead, she went to seek out Ben. He had to have more information about his lead, and Bierce needed a heavy distraction. 

“Hear me out, Bierce,” Ben spoke, sitting in the cushioned chair in the corner of his quarters, “I just know that there’s something there. It’s almost as if it’s drawing me there.” 

“And you expect me to simply believe that your inkling will lead me to salvation?” Bierce leaned against the wall, her arms crossing firmly over her chest. 

“I know it’ll get us closer, at the very least.” Ben looked back up to her, a notebook in his lap. “I know Ramona keeps dismissing me. I know it doesn’t seem too plausible that the ring will be there, but at the very least we’ll get closer.” Ben seemed to nearly be pleading. This could be positive, or negative in Bierce’s eyes. Could she be walking into a carefully laid trap, lured by someone she trusted? Or, could he be telling the truth? 

“How can you be certain, Benjamin? I want to believe you. I’ve hired you for a reason, I believe that you have knowledge to offer this team. But, there’s so much doubt cast on this lead. There’s so much uncertainty.” Bierce sighed, letting her arms fall limply to her sides. 

“I just know, Bierce. I think... A force is trying to leave me there. You see, I’ve... Been seeing something in my dreams as of late.” Ben began to speak, though he had some hesitation behind his voice. Bierce did not like the implication, her eyes widening. 

“You don’t mean Malak, do you?” Bierce quickly interjected, not wanting any doubt if Ben was one of the individuals impacted by his influence. 

“I’d assume so. I don’t believe he wants us to go there, which we could assume means that it’s an important location.” Ben reasoned though Bierce was not too happy with using the demon as a force to choose their leads. 

“... Yes, we’d assume so. But you know what you do when you assume, Ben. Don’t fail me.” 

“Bierce. I’ve many opportunities. I could be anywhere I want, and I’m still here. If that doesn’t mean I’m loyal to you, I don’t know what else I could do to prove it. Despite the fact that you’ve publicly humiliated me in front of our compatriots.” 

“Only because you were publicly humiliating Ramona.” 

“Because she’s failed us. Twice. And you still have her at the head of the pack, leading us off the trail of your salvation.” Ben retorted, matter of fact in his manner. 

“As will you at some point, Ben. If I give you enough opportunities. If anything, she has succeeded in crossing locations off out lists, and she took your verbal beating without snapping. On the other hand,” Bierce looked back down at Ben, fire in her eyes. “I’m less receptive to those sorts of words, Ben. If it’s the odd quip like Ramona offers you, or like Ramona offers me. The comments Rosemary makes, the seldom spoken words from Norman. They’re very welcome.” Bierce did enjoy the jovial wordplay they offered each other. “But you’ve called someone I trust a failure in her entirety. We joke about your leads because you dish it out first, and you can never take it back.” 

Ben seemed to become quiet, gripping the arm of the chair, his nails digging into the fabric, nearly breaking through. “I see. No matter, I’ll continue to try and help you, and if you cannot see what is holding you back, it is nothing for me to worry about.” 

“I’m glad we’ve reached somewhat of a mutual agreement. I want to trust you; you can just be rather insufferable. So can I, though.” Bierce commented, content with leaving the conversation there. Though, Ben had one more thought. 

“I have a theory on why you gravitate toward the one you’ve directed to the position of director on this project,” Ben spoke, closing his notebook. This was no longer about their search for the ring. 

“I’m going to regret asking you to enlighten me.” 

“Well. Knowing the limited amount that I do about your situation, you’re only successful because of Malak. Of course, you married rich, but fame only came once you sold your soul.” This was true, and Bierce nodded with his observation. “Ramona, however, has built a solid platform of success. Smart, beautiful, doing as she pleases. Not tethered down with the weight of owing her soul to someone else. Yet, she does not get the recognition she deserves for her efforts. A woman does not get the recognition a man does in this world, Helen. This is a simple observation.” 

“Does your little ramble have a point, or am I wasting precious space in my brain on it?” Bierce asked, looking at the door. She could leave if she wanted, nothing was keeping her here. Though, what Ben was speaking about had begun to resonate with her. She wanted to see where this was going. 

“I think you see yourself when you see Ramona,” Ben said, the statement simple. “You’ve worked hard, regretting some of your past actions. You have strong personalities, and they often clash when we’re discussing topics, or go hand in hand. Though, to have Ramona around is to live vicariously through her. While you both may be dying, she’s dying at a slower rate. I think you’re clinging to that instead of trying to save yourself.” 

Bierce let these words roll around in her mind, and she could not disagree. Maybe he was right, though he was too smart for his own good. “Acknowledged. Your words might have some weight, but I’m still in control of what I do. I would not be wasting my time with the rest of you if I did not want the ring.” 

“That is true, Bierce. That is true...” Ben sighed, now meeting her gaze. “I suppose you’re going to do what you’re going to do. I’d just like to find a demonic artifact, make more of a name for myself that way. It does not impact me in any way aside from that.” Ben finished his thought, opening his notebook once again. “I’m glad we’ll be able to get back to work soon.” 

“As am I.” Bierce was glad they could agree on one thing. “I feel so antsy in these walls lately. Maybe after I secure my soul, it’ll feel different.” 

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Ben dismissed, and with this, Bierce left the room, unsure how to feel with the encounter. Living vicariously through Ramona, comparing herself to Ramona, maybe that was what she had been doing. Maybe there was a reason she wanted to be so close to her, maybe she wanted to be her? To have that freedom, to not be tied down to her demons. However, why would that entail the romantic feelings she had started to feel toward the other? 

“Oh, fuck,” Bierce said aloud, standing in the middle of the decorated hallway, having stopped in her tracks. She had admitted it to herself, and her mental reasoning could not justify it. It was likely just the disconnect she had been feeling from the rest of the world, clinging to Ramona as her only source of emotional stability. But, deep down, she knew that this was not true. 

To say that Bierce tried her hardest to stay away from Ramona throughout the day would be an understatement. Bierce actively hid from Ramona, nervous now that her mind had come to its conclusion. What would she say? Would her loose lips sink another ship that she could not handle losing? No, she would not let that happen. The best protection mechanism she could use for her friendship with Ramona was to simply. Not speak to her ever again. As stupid as it sounded, Bierce felt it was the only option at the moment. 

Bierce filled her time with encounters with Norman and Rosemary once again, though not much information could be gained that she had not already known. Rosemary had discussed numerous species of flowers in the courtyard with Bierce, pointing them out. Bierce quite enjoyed spending time to dawdle amongst the splashes of colour, learning more about what she lived amongst for years without knowing. Rosemary seemed to enjoy the encounter as well, Bierce having overcome the “softie” comment earlier with civility. 

The sun of the late morning and the early afternoon warmed Bierce’s face, and it renewed her in a strange way. She did not feel that she was a prisoner in her own home, but that she was relaxing. The others had inspired this feeling in her multiple times throughout their stay, and Bierce was quite enjoying the escapism. 

Bierce went to visit Norman on the veranda in the mid-afternoon, who was enjoying bourbon in the sun. It was a nice day to be outside, and with a lot of their work done, why would they not enjoy the perks? Bierce did not mind; they had done their jobs sufficiently. 

“I recall that you enjoy birds, correctly?” Bierce asked as she approached him, and he looked up from his newspaper. 

“I do.” Norman met her gaze, Bierce joining in his lounging in the chair beside him. 

“Well, are there any birds here that are particularly interesting?” 

“Well,” Norman began, setting down the paper, “There are quite a few different species of woodpecker, beautiful birds, many of them red-crowned.” 

“They’re rather loud, too. I’ve heard them as I’ve sat out here in the evening.” Bierce remarked though she was not necessarily casting anger at the birds. 

“Yes, that’s part of how their nature, after all. We’re simply living where they live and expecting them to be quiet about it.” Norman offered her a warm chuckle, a sigh following it. “Though, I feel you’re not here to speak particularly about birds.” 

“... What do you believe I’m here to discuss?” Bierce asked; an eyebrow raised as she looked toward him instead of the courtyard. 

“You’re... Well, you seem unnerved in a way. But, not to the extent you usually are. You seem well-rested, which is very unusual for you. The bags under your eyes have subsided to a point, and you’ve been suspiciously distant from Ramona.” Norman smiled slightly, seemingly knowing what he was implying. 

“You can’t get a rise out of me. This is not going to work this time, Norman. You made me flustered last time, but no matter what you imply, I’m going to stay strong.” Bierce crossed her arms, her chest puffing out slightly with her own confidence. 

“Ah, then you’ve bested me. My only goal in life after my many years on this Earth is to make you feel embarrassed about your obvious infatuation with my colleague.” Norman dramatically threw his hands in the air as if he was fed up; having been defeated. 

“I am NOT infatuated!” Bierce retorted quickly, angrily, cancelling out the promise she had made to Norman only a sentence before. 

“See, your reaction says something different. And, the shade you’re turning does, too.” 

“I swear to Christ I will... Do something. Something that will have very real consequences.” 

“Very well, I’ll accept that. But you’ve also got to accept that if someone looks at you for more than a minute, they’re going to figure out your secret.” Norman concluded, looking over to the nearby balcony of Ramona’s room, where she sat once again. 

“Well, you’re not the first to approach me about Ramona today. At least you’re the only one calling it a crush, I couldn’t handle dealing with three of you poking fun at me for how I feel.” Bierce rest her head against the headrest of the chair. 

“... You admitted it without too much prodding.” Norman grinned at this breakthrough. Bierce’s face was the shade of a tomato, realizing that she had admitted her subconscious feelings to Norman about Ramona. She did not even know why she felt this way, if Ben was correct or if Norman was correct or if she was simply falling deeper into insanity. 

“You’re scum, Norman. You are a blight on my wellbeing, and I should discard you.” Bierce followed up quickly, hiding her face from Ramona, who had looked down into the courtyard. 

“Fair enough, Helen. Fair enough.” Norman finished, his eyes closing as he soaked in the sun. “You’ll do what you will, and it won’t matter the slightest to me. Unless, of course, I don’t get paid.” Norman sighed, looking toward the Balcony Ramona sat on. “But you’ve got to ask yourself if this is what you want. If you want to walk around on eggshells whenever you’re around her worrying about what you might say, that’s your torch to burn.” 

“Understandable.” Bierce stood once again, smoothing her skirt, cutting the conversation there. “At least you get a kick out of it, love.” She finished this encounter, walking away, into the full light of the sun, closer to Ramona’s balcony. Norman’s words rang relevant in her mind, and she bit her bottom lip as she fretted over it, the deep-red lipstick transferring to her teeth. Bierce looked up, Ramona turning her attention away from her documents as she gazed down. 

“Hey,” Ramona called down to her. “You must’ve been busy; I’ve not seen you all day.” Ramona was smirking, as she always enjoyed their back and forth conversations. 

“Well, demonic rituals don’t do themselves, and they don’t correct themselves either,” Bierce called back, walking backwards as she spoke. The untouchable nature of her visage was what she sought to maintain, but in this attempt, she failed greatly. She tripped on a stone in the path, falling backward into the thorns of a rose bush with an expression of surprise. “Fuck-” 

Rosemary rushed over, as she was still in the garden, helping Bierce to her feet. Though Ramona had initially watched over this with concern, having stood, almost ready to jump over the balcony it seemed. Now that Bierce was confirmed alright, though her skin showed some shallow pricking and scraping from the thorns, Ramona could not hold back her laughter. She had to brace herself against the railing of the balcony to keep herself upright now that she had stood, her laughter ringing over the courtyard. Though Rosemary disapproved of this reaction at first, she could not stifle her own giggling. 

“I hate every single one of you, and you will all be fired before the day is out!” Bierce took her hand back from Rosemary, putting on a cross face. Her own laughter could not be held back before long, however, and she joined the others. It was rather funny, as Bierce usually prided herself on being perfect. This was far from perfect. 

Bierce tasted the rust, deep red taste of the blood from a nick in her lip. Probably the only part of her where the skin had broken, the sting seemed to quiet her for a moment. Bierce’s eyes glossed over, her mind turning over on itself as it dug up old memories. A knife, thunder, the flash, it happened within a millisecond for her. Her head shook as she brought herself back, laughing to cover up the lapse. 

“Excuse me, I should likely... I don’t know, make sure I haven’t broken anything.” Bierce lied through her teeth, needing to escape the situation that was jovial just a moment before. She rushed into her home, the clack on the hardness of the floor causing uneasiness in her breath. She had no clue where she was running to, she was simply running in her high heels through the halls of her home. Before she knew it, she was in the center of the ballroom, alone. 

The slight scratches on Bierce’s hands began to bleed, coating her hands with her own blood, pouring onto the floor without mercy. Down her dress, as well. She touched her hand to her face out of the shock, and her fingerprints left their mark on her cheek. The warmth of the blood, the smell of iron in the air; her stomach tied in knots, leaving her nauseous. 

“Bierce,” A familiar voice called down to her, and she turned her attention to the top of the stairs, “you continue to prove me right at every turn.” 

“Malak. Your presence continues to disgrace my household.” Bierce kept a strong jaw, her own eyes boring right back into where his eyes should have been. 

“When are you going to tell her? When are you going to stop playing this little game, and tell her what you’ve done? You’ve got to take ownership of it.” Malak began to make his way down the grand staircase at a snail’s pace, his hand resting atop the railing as he moved. 

“STOP IT. I canno- I-” Bierce took a breath to stabilize herself as he moved a step closer to her, descending. “I’m not afraid of you. She... She can’t know. Stop FUCKING with my head!” Bierce raked her fingers through her platinum blonde hair, gripping it and pulling so hard it threatened to come out. Blood now stained her hair as well; screams sounding in the ballroom again, tiny screams. 

“Bierce. You’re taking ownership of your feelings, but you can’t take ownership of what you’ve done? Doesn’t love conquer all? Or, is that one of those stupid platitudes you humans love to share with each other?” Malak taunted as he moved ever closer, Bierce’s occasional grunts of frustration and pain from the moment ringing out with the screams of the sacrifice. 

“I’M TRYING TO FIX IT, MALAK!” Bierce screamed, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground, her dress coated in the thick red substance, her eyes shut, squeezed tightly together. 

“What are you trying to fix, Bierce? Isn’t your life perfect? Isn’t this everything you sold your soul for? Fame? The glamour? What could you possibly change, Helen?” Malak continued to mock her position, another step on the carpeted stairs completed. 

“I SHOULD HAVE NEVER KILLED THAT LITTLE GIRL!” Bierce cried out, her throat now raw from the loudness of the situation, almost completely curled into herself as she remained on the floor. “I SHOULD HAVE NEVER LET YOU TRICK ME! I SHOULD HAVE NEVER-… I... I should’ve...” Bierce dissolved into sobs now, the tears running from her eyes and down her nose, dripping onto the floor before she opened her eyes to look up at Malak. 

However, the blood had evaporated from where it once was, and Malak had left. In his place, Ramona stood on the stairs, her eyes expressing the shock and horror at what she had just heard. 

“Ra... Ramo--” 

“Don’t.” Ramona cut her off, rushing down the remainder of the stairs, and stopping short of stepping on the other, looking down on her. She did not extend a hand to help her up. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t kn-” 

“What did I say? I told you to NOT. Stop. I... I deserve to have some questions answered, now.” Ramona started, a form of anger welling under her eyes, noticeable to Bierce. “Who the hell did you sacrifice here? Who the fuck’s blood is soaked into the floor? It doesn’t sound like they didn’t matter.” 

Bierce was silent, their eyes meeting, though Ramona stood tall above her pathetic position. Bierce blinked, tears still rolling down her cheeks. She let go of her violent snarls of hair and let her hands fall to her sides as she began to explain. 

“A man. He came to the manor during one of Edgar’s parties. Heard them chanting in the garden, performing their little cult activities...” Bierce took a shaky breath, not sure if she was ready to tell this story. “Victor. He had a strange accent and told me of places in which rituals like this meant something. He told me of what he had seen, and that if I wanted something bad enough, and I could give the forces what they wanted, I’d be able to... Get whatever I want.” Bierce now gripped at the long sleeves of her dress; her gaze unable to meet Ramona’s any longer. “After this conversation, I got a screen test with MGM, and... Well, that’s when I believed in what he’d said.” 

“Who. Who did you do this to?” Ramona already had an inkling, but she needed Bierce to tell her.   
“I... One of the maids had a daughter. Lived in the quarters. I knew that I couldn’t just give Malak... Anyone off the street, I couldn’t just give him my husband, he was rotten already. But... Victor suggested her. I learned all the words as if I were memorizing them for a script. The messy part was taken care of by those on my staff. Around midnight, the child was drugged, asleep. They had wrapped her in sheets to make it easier, but a body that small... It’s hard not to know.” 

With every mention of the word child, Ramona winced. Though she stayed silent, allowing Bierce to continue her story. 

“I couldn’t do it, I thought. I turned away. I began to walk away, knowing I had gone mad, I was losing my mind. I went to drop the knife to the ground, ready to call it off.” Bierce explained though it did not paint her in a better light. “I... I had this sudden urge overcome me. I could do anything; nothing was beneath me. I recounted the Latin I had learned, I did as I had practiced, and I stabbed a child in the chest many more times than I would have needed to.” Bierce spat, now staring directly down at the ground. She could see her reflection in the polished sheen, and it was distorted in her vision, as she knew she was a demon herself. “I... Want to believe. I want to believe that it was Malak’s influence that caused me to turn around. I want to believe that it was I was not acting the way I usually would. Now I know that I was being nothing but selfish. It was a moment where my true nature shone through, a despicable mess.” Bierce now looked to the side, refusing to meet Ramona’s gaze. 

“Now, she’s gone. Her mother was admitted to Rockhaven Sanitorium, and she’s gone.” Bierce quickly finished, remembering the weight of the body as she looked into her own eyes in the reflection of the floor. 

Ramona stood there, staring down at the broken woman beneath her. Bierce could not know what the emotions were that her face expressed, as she would not look up. Though, she could almost feel the other’s eyes boring through the back of her skull, causing her to melt even further into the floor. This moment lasted several lifetimes, Bierce struggling, and failing, to muster the courage to look up. 

The sound of steps along the floor rang out as Ramona turned around, walking across the floor, and back up the stairs. 

“Wait, Ramo--” Bierce began, abruptly cut off. 

“Don’t you fucking dare speak to me right now.” Was all Ramona could say, she refused to look back at Bierce as she spoke, and she sped her steps up as she moved up the stairs. The sounds of Ramona breaking down could be heard following this. Bierce had never seen her cry, not once in the months they had known each other. Now, she heard her weep, though it was muffled by her hands as she rushed out of Bierce’s sight. 

Bierce was left sitting in a pool of tears instead of the pool of blood that once graced these floors. Her chest felt as if it had been scooped clean, her lungs and heart having been torn out with her ribs. She could not breathe, and she could not think straight. 

Bierce simply sat there, gutted and alone, the blood pooling back around her as she slid deeper into the memory again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever heard the song Despite What You've Been Told by Two Gallants?


	8. You seem to really enjoy pain, don't you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bierce has a one-sided conversation, as well as another conversation that is not so one-sided. Bierce also plays dumb to avoid feelings.

Bierce did not want any more contact with those in her home. Not the staff, not the research team, only herself. Of course, that meant that the demons that lived within her. Bierce absconded to a room not too far off the ballroom, her late husband’s study, attempting to calm down before making contact with anyone else in the house. She had poisoned him with arsenic, and it had taken six months to pull it off. He was as despicable as she was, so the regret did not cut as deeply as the sacrifice. How many call girls had never come out of the manor because of him and his friends? She had not the faintest idea. 

Now, to compare Edgar to herself was something Bierce tried to abstain from. But as she sat in the window of his study, her mascara streaked down her face from the tears that continued to flow, monstrous came to her mind for both of them. That was likely why she chose him to siphon money from in the first place, misery loves company, does it not? Had he lived; would she have simply ridden it out until Edgar died? He was considerably older than her, and his lifestyle was not one to support life. Though the amount Bierce also drank, and smoke did not constitute a healthy lifestyle either. 

Bierce had to ruin her life for the one thing she could not have, a superstar, a career as an actress. To be adored and immortalized on the silver screen. Hungry for that power she had craved, as her life had been steered for her in every which direction by others. With her deal with Malak, she could gain her own control. Or, so she thought. Malak was still pulling the strings and would do as he pleased with her. It was just like having Edgar around once again, only Malak was not as insufferable. 

Bierce grabbed a cigarette from her case, lighting it as she leant back in Edgar’s office chair. She let her eyes roll back into her head and close, the black smeared tear trails beginning to dry on her face. She deserved this, and she knew it. Though, it did not make it hurt any less. 

“Are you happy, Malak? You got me to tell her, to tell her what I did for you. My allegiance to the darkness of satanic rituals. I bet you’re grinning like a cat that’s got a canary nestled in its jaws right about now.” Bierce kicked her feet up on the desk. She had not bothered to reorganize this room when Edgar had passed, there were already many other rooms in the manor. “I bet this is what you get off on, you bastard, you.” Bierce began to laugh, choking toward the end of the spell. She took another drag, the sadness dragging down her eyes. 

Bierce waited a moment for a response, and her laughter returned, throwing her arms in the air as she spoke once again. “Ah, of course! The moment I want you to show and fucking answer me, you’ve decided to act as cowardly as a demon can.” Bierce spat, though her anger turned away from him. “I was right in telling you to just take my soul, I was right in telling you that you were welcome to it. I knew about my predisposition to darkness, and you sought me out. Such a clever demon...” Bierce trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. 

“... Now my compatriots are likely to turn on me, Ramona’s probably whispering my words into the ears of Norman and Rosemary as we speak. Probably not Ben, though. She doesn’t like to associate with him.” Bierce punctuated her words with movements of her hand, ash falling onto her dress and the floor. “They deserved so much better than me. They’re hard workers, proficient... And they came along for the ride for a little while, didn’t they? Thought I might’ve gotten the better of you...” 

Bierce ashed her cigarette into the ashtray Edgar had kept on his desk, now resting her cheek against the cold, hard surface of the desk. 

“Good talk, Malak. Whenever it’s one-sided, it seems we get along quite well.” Bierce quipped, dragging her cheek along the desk as she struggled to stand. Though, as she looked at the desk, she noticed an almost empty bottle of bourbon sitting on Edgar’s desk. “Actually... Fuck you, Malak. This talk was shit.” She changed her mind, picking up the bottle to knock back the contents. After the bottle had been drained, she held it by the neck, whipping it at the wall, watching it fracture into a thousand pieces with a bang. The disintegration calmed her. She could control how the bottle broke when it broke. But she could not put it back together after it had been demolished. “I hope you come for me soon, four more years living with this garbage, I’ll likely slit my own throat before the year is out.” 

Bierce dragged her sad state up to her room, ready to become a recluse. She pulled the blinds closed, leaving the room dark and inviting for her current mood. The only good thing she had going for her in the way of people. The only real friend she likely had and Ramona wanted nothing else to do with her. Of course, she deserved it and knew that well. The sting she felt in the small nicks from earlier persisted because of the situation around her, and her body ached from what she could only assume to be heartbreak. The only time she had felt this bad was directly after the sacrifice, directly after she had made the biggest mistake anyone could ever make. 

Feeling like an angsty teen after a schoolyard breakup, Bierce looked to her closet, still left ajar from the earlier encounter. The gown that had been wrapped around Ramona laid on the ground, Bierce bending to pick it up and feel the material. It still smelt like Ramona, and Bierce cursed herself for noticing the absence of her friend. 

The shift into the evening left Bierce feeling ill, chain-smoking in her room, now wearing the long, black gown that scooped low in a V-Neck. The sleeves were long and draping, the collar somewhat high, painting her in dramatic, gothic light. What else could she do at the moment? Nobody wanted her aside from the drones outside her home, consuming the content she created. They could not head off to Europe currently, the plane was not ready. She could not pass the time with the four of her colleagues, they likely all hated her now. To lay back on the bed and watch the smoke circle around her head was all she could do and stew in her own self-pity. 

The bourbon had left her head somewhat calmed, able to look at her situation more objectively than emotionally. It still explained the underlying fact that she had committed something monstrous, but it also gave her a tiny bit of hope. To have the Riddle of Heaven in her possession, she might be able to fix this. Or, of course, she could use it to immortalize herself both figuratively, and literally. If she was already a monster, already doomed to hell since she had gambled her soul, why should she even bother? 

Falling to Bierce’s basic human instincts for power would be easy for her, though, the idea left a bad taste in her mouth. The bad taste could have just been the tobacco, tar, and mouth cancer, but the thought made her head pound. She figured she might as well just go to sleep.   
A knock at the door stirred Bierce from this thought, and she stood from her position on the bed. She did not bother in smoothing her gown out, as her makeup was a mess and her hair had been rustled. It was likely Ben or Norman, wondering where she had been for the better part of the evening. 

“I’m not in the mood to entertain right no-” Bierce began to speak as she opened the door, though when she opened her eyes, Ramona was fuming at her on the other side. Her presence shut Bierce down, she simply stared at the other, Ramona’s hazel eyes staring into her own. 

“... Funny, I thought you might want to talk to me after approximately four hours of radio silence. I guess I can leave then.” Ramona’s voice was flat, she was still reasonably upset. 

“No! No. Please. Come in.” Bierce moved out of the way, allowing Ramona into her room. As soon as the door closed, Bierce was met with Ramona’s furious gaze once again, the full extent of her anger apparent. 

“So. I get why you wouldn’t tell me,” Ramona began, her voice oddly calm for how angry she appeared to be. “but I... Oh my god, Bierce. I knew it was bad, but...” Ramona’s words seemed jumbled, and she began to breathe in order to, presumably, calm herself. “You... Have a lot more explaining to do. You have so much to answer for, and I don’t know how to feel. But I think I’m going to need to hear all that you have to say, I need to know all the information. I need to know what your next step is.” 

Ramona’s willingness to listen surprised Bierce. While knowing Ramona was open to some ideas, she knew that it was gracious of her to allow her this time. Ramona sat on the edge of Bierce’s bed, her arms crossed, her brow set in showing her disapproval of the other. 

“Well. I appreciate it, but you know you don’t have to be here.” 

“You don’t understand. I need to know for myself.” 

“...” Bierce crossed her arms over her own chest, leaning against the door. “Her name was Madeline. She had lived here for... A long time, actually. Since she was very young. I did not see her often, her mother kept her tucked away so I wouldn’t get angry. That’s the reason I was given seven years and a day, that’s how old she was. She’d celebrated her birthday the day before down in the squalor the help lives in. One day for every one she’d lived.” Bierce reflected on this past, wondering where she would be had Bierce not cut her life short. 

“She was a human, like you and me. Not only that but a human who couldn’t understand what the fuck was going on. And... You did that.” Ramona looked down in apparent disgust, unable to look at Bierce for a moment. Though, this cumulated in a sigh, her gaze returning to the other. “However, you spoke about Victor. Through my research... Especially into Malak as an entity, and to be influenced... To have him play a hand in aiding a ‘reluctant follower’ in ways beyond their control... They’ve been documented.” Ramona began, every word seeming uncertain in her voice. 

This surprised Bierce. She had not done a lot of research into Malak herself in his time throughout history. She knew his influence spanned multiple faiths and cultures, but Ramona had done her homework. “And... That means that it might not be my fault?” 

“No. It means that you’re not COMPLETELY to blame. You’re still despicable, you’re still horrible for considering doing what you did. But...” Ramona stopped, seeming lost in her next words. “My perception of you might be clouded by fond memories. I don’t want to believe you dug that knife in on purpose, I want to believe that Malak forced you to do it. Either way, you still... You still did something awful. One just... Makes it acceptable for me to stay.” 

Bierce was rather taken aback by Ramona’s admission, and it made the tears well up in her eyes once again, though she quickly wiped them away, wiping away the remnants of her trailed mascara from before. 

“But that depends on one thing, and if you fuck this up, I’m not coming back. I’m leaving tonight, and you’re never gonna see me again.” Ramona’s face became hard again, showing Bierce that she was serious, and Bierce quickly nodded. “What are you going to use the ring for? What whims are you going to fulfill?” 

Bierce was silent, thinking about her earlier thoughts. If she truly was the monster she knew she was, she would simply fall into the pattern of wanting nothing but power. However, it seemed Ramona had hope in her. She may have thought that Bierce was not a demon, but someone that was misguided. Bierce had no clue either way, but this sealed her decision, at least, until something changed her mind. 

“All I want... I want to give that child the life they missed out on because of me. I’ll gladly accept my place in hell, I’ll let Malak take me away, but let her live. Let her mother not suffer from knowing what her daughter’s fate was. Let her have everything that I gave her life for.” Bierce spoke truthfully, her eyes downcast again, her demeanour rather sad knowing that they may never find the ring. 

“Then... I guess I’m sticking it out with you until we get that ring.” Ramona remarked, still angry in her demeanour, but her look was faltering quickly. “I... Really didn’t want to leave.” Ramona sighed, seeming to hesitate for a moment before she wrapped her arms like a vice around Bierce in a hug. Bierce was surprised, though, not too surprised that she did not return the hug with the same enthusiasm. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to deal with Malak the way you do, to resist a demon’s influence, it’s near impossible. I don’t... Completely blame you.” 

Ramona’s words caused Bierce’s eyes to water again, and she cursed herself, having let it become a habit. She let the tears roll freely now, and as soon as Bierce saw Ramona notice them, Ramona moved her hand to Bierce’s face, her palm resting against Bierce’s cheek, wiping her tears away with her thumb. “I’d make fun of you, but these scars run deep, don’t they? Why else would you be sitting here in the dark in a full-length evening gown?” 

“Would you deal with it any differently?” Bierce quipped back, leaning into the other’s touch before it was slowly pulled away. 

Ramona, letting her hand fall back to Bierce’s shoulder, seemed to realize how close they were. Bierce also took note of this, but as had happened earlier in the morning, she did not move away. 

“Will you... Will you leave, Ramona? Are you going to go back to your room?” Bierce asked, her voice small, almost pleading as if she were a child herself. Ramona was the only one this vulnerability felt acceptable around, and Bierce did not offer it easily. 

“I told you last night when you were having your nightmares, I’m not leaving. You’re going to fix this, and I’m going to assist you in making it right.” Ramona now rest her chin on Bierce’s shoulder, her arms having squeezed her tighter. 

Bierce let her tears stain the shoulder of Ramona’s blouse, having let them drip down her cheeks freely. A chuckle escaped her, breathy, overwhelmed with the situation. “I’m... Ramona, what are our feelings for each other? I’m so very confused and lost.” 

Ramona moved back, seemingly unsure of how to answer. “Maybe... You should just say what comes to your mind? Maybe we’ll work out what you’re feeling if you stop censoring yourself.” She remarked, leaving Bierce standing by herself, put on the spot. 

Bierce coughed, her fingers tapping against her hip, trying to work up the courage to properly speak. “When you hold me... I feel as if Malak’s influence melts away; as if I’m wrapped in poetry.” Bierce’s words were clumsy at first, as they were difficult to say. “You’re keeping me from being diverted into dangerous waters, anchored... Safe. I haven’t been safe in years, always looking into the dark corners of rooms, hallucinating. Days in which I haven’t eaten, having fallen near catatonic. To have you around inspires me, I suppose. More than the fame ever did.” Bierce took in a deep breath, holding it as she came to terms with her admission. 

Ramona reached out for Bierce’s hand, taking a deep breath as well. “You... Are an anomaly. You’re despicable in your actions, but you’re trying to fix them and succeeding. You’re doing everything you can to fix them... Something draws me in, the calculations you make, the intelligence in your actions. At the same time, you never cease to amaze me in how stupid your decisions can be. How selfish you can be. An enigma, esoteric and eccentric. You’re everything, and nothing at the same time, presented in such a way that you’re nothing more than an empty-headed actress.” Ramona's words spilt from her mouth, washing over Bierce, no grace in how she spoke, similar to Bierce’s manner of expression. 

They simply stared at each other for a bit, Bierce looking down after a moment, her face darkened. “So... We're actually... Oh god, what’s the term?” Bierce asked, the words not rolling off her tongue quite right. “I suppose the correct term would be... Friends? That’s what we are?” 

Ramona sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it, Bierce. I... I’ll be right back.” Ramona moved past her to open the door. 

“Wait, where’re you going?” Bierce asked Ramona, an eyebrow cocked in surprise. 

“I’m off to grab my pajamas. If I’m going to keep you from having terrifying nightmares, I might as well be comfortable doing it.” Ramona walked down the hall, Bierce closing the door. What had Ramona meant? She seemed frustrated by Bierce’s insinuation that they were friends. Bierce toyed with the idea of romantic intent for a moment, as if Ramona might have been... No, there was no way. That was practically unheard of outside of works by ancient Greek poets. Taking the opportunity, Bierce changed into her own nightclothes, the sleek, long nightgown highlighting her figure. She found herself wondering if Ramona would like it on her, and then cursing herself again. This whole situation was beyond confusing for her already fried brain, and instead of toying with the idea of changing her appearance, she climbed into the bed. Ramona could neither like or dislike what she could not see. 

Bierce watched Ramona open the door a few moments later, wearing striped pajamas, normally reserved for males. Bierce thought they looked charming on her, the red and white stripes bringing out the red tones in her hair. Bierce propped herself up on her elbow, watching Ramona walk toward her. 

“Bierce, I had a question.” 

“Of course. What’d you want to ask?” 

“Do you take pride in being so oblivious, or are you oblivious of how oblivious you are?” 

Bierce gave Ramona a strange look, unsure of what she had said. “What do you mean, Ramona? I’m oblivious about some things, but I’m... Not following.” Bierce had some inkling of what she meant, though, admitting it was too much for her mind. 

“It’s nothing, Bierce.” Ramona was assuring in her tone, climbing under the covers next to her. Though it was a peculiar situation, they had become somewhat accustomed to it, seeing as they had woken up next to each other that morning. 

“... It’s surreal to think that we had the conversation we had, and you’re still at my side.” Bierce turned over to gaze at Ramona. “I’m beyond lucky to have you here, you’re all I could’ve asked for in a friend.” 

“Yes. Friend. A friend that shares a bed with you. A friend that gets shoved into your closet so nobody else knows that you share that bed.” Ramona laughed, Bierce watching her roll her sleepy eyes at the nature of the entire situation. “I think I might take back everything I said about your intelligence, Bierce.” 

“Hey! I’m... Smart, when I want to be. I’m smart when it does not drive me into becoming an anxious wreck about the knowledge in question.” Bierce’s words were puzzles in themselves, laced in tiredness, her eyes unable to meet Ramona’s. 

“So. You’re nervous. About the connotation around our admissions? Around the fact that we’ve been waking up cuddling?” 

Bierce sunk beneath the blanket, only her eyes peeking out now to show her hesitation toward the entire subject. “Maybe.” She spoke, though her voice quieted even further with her next word. “Very.” 

“That’s fine. It’s not like it’s common. It’s not like it’s acceptable.” Ramona’s words hinted to Bierce that she was toying with the concept herself, turning her back to Bierce as she got herself comfortable in the bed. Seemingly tired after the emotional labour she had performed within the day. Bierce’s eyes had become heavy as well, and while she watched Ramona lay in thought, Bierce absentmindedly curled up against her. Bierce had never gotten to be the big spoon before, and though she was not exactly aware of it, she was enjoying it. Ramona seemed to gladly accept the attention as well, snuggling back up against her. 

“Ramona... I’m glad we’ve finally figured out what we are. Friends... Maybe what some would consider... Best friends....” Bierce’s disjointed words had begun to become yawns, her eyes closing. 

“Yes, of course, Bierce. Look at the both of us, spooning. Just gals bein’ pals, Bierce.” Ramona had begun to laugh at this, though it ended in a yawn for her as well. Bierce noticed the light falling as Ramona reached to turn it off, allowing them both to settle in for sleep. 

“I’m so... I’m glad... I think I’m in love.” Bierce’s words escaped her before she could censor them, though she did not care at the moment, she was walking a line between consciousness and sleep. Her eyes were now closed, slipping away. However, Ramona’s body seemed to freeze, her chest ceasing movement as her breath caught in her throat. When Bierce felt her regain control, she reached to grab Bierce’s hand that had been wrapped around her. 

“Wow. What can I say to that?” Ramona asked, Bierce, having hardly caught the other’s words before slipping into unconsciousness. 

Bierce felt alright, safe as if she was wrapped in a blanket of security at the moment between sleep and waking. She knew Ramona’s scent; she knew that the other was near her.

Bierce felt as if she were strangely normal. Though, she knew the situation would seem strange to the normal pair of eyes, even without the satanism and murder. 

Bierce knew she could change what she had done, that she could atone for what she had done, and Ramona had influenced that. 

Bierce was okay, and Bierce had not been okay in years.


	9. Is it terribly rude if you let yourself in unannounced?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bierce travels with the team to London, England. Bierce and Ramona explore their hotel room.

To wake up every morning next to Ramona made for the greatest sleep Bierce had ever had. The next few days forecast accurately called for a record low of cigarettes and alcohol consumption, as well as a rather cheerful Bierce. Waking in the morning with a new lease on life, a new strength pushing her to work even harder. Now, in tandem with her regret, Ramona’s influence was also pulling her along. To be embraced was something she had missed in her lonelier years, and now, she had another reason to keep going in her hell-bound life. 

Bierce made a point to spend more time with everyone. She shared meals with them, engaged in their research, allowed Norman to tease her about the increasing time she spent with Ramona. Of course, they made sure nobody saw her leaving Bierce’s room in the morning, Bierce being rather self-concious about her need to be watched over. While her cold demeanour sometimes snuck through, it was usually played off as a joke. Life seemed worth living again, as she had those in her life that were keeping it that way. Ben even seemed to communicate more with Bierce; Bierce having taken more interest in his own research. Now that her demons were being staved off, though the occasional nightmare snuck through, the days seemed to go by quickly, their Europe trip quickly approaching. 

Going “home” was bittersweet for Bierce. She had been back in the last year, though, it was always short-lived and part of her path to stardom. She had moved to America in her mid-adolescence due to the economic boom of the roaring twenties, something her parents had done for the greater good of their small family. An only child, doted on, it was not often that she wanted for anything. Except for the stardom she so desperately craved from an early age, of course. Now, when she returned, it felt as if it was hollow. So many things she recognized, so many streets she had walked as a young girl, and yet, the streets did not know her. She had changed. 

The realization that the return may bring her pain caused Bierce to be somewhat quiet during the early-morning flight, looking over their plan for London. Fly into London in the late afternoon, hotel check-in, Ramona checks in with a contact. Tomorrow, they would go early to the church, as not to be bothered, and do their damnedest to find any evidence that Malak had been there, any inkling of the ring. A treasure hunt with high stakes, one that was making Bierce anxious. As a promise to herself, and at the apprehension of upsetting Ramona, Bierce had not gotten blackout drunk before this flight, and it still caused her some anxiety. 

“What... Exactly should we be looking for in the church?” Rosemary asked aloud from her seat, turning toward the others. “We can’t exactly tear up the floorboards, or the walls.” 

“Well, Malak’s influence is specific. Precise. You might look for certain patterns that match his symbols, or just a giant, neon sign that says, ‘Demon Power Here!’” Ramona spoke, though Ben also added on, their ideas now working in conjunction from Bierce’s perspective. 

“Yes, anything burnt into the wood of support beams, etched into bricks. Plus, with Bierce being so well acquainted with the demon, whatever we’re looking for might just come right to us.” Ben explained, Bierce nodding with his words. She was worried about the prospect of seeing Malak once again, knowing that the glimpses of her past had been shorter lately, more subdued due to her newfound protector. 

“Maybe he’ll have left the ring in a neat little package for us to collect,” Bierce said, her voice deadpan as she spoke, though it was a joke. It roused a few chuckles from the others, and Bierce felt like the popular kid in class. At least she could take the tension of the other’s shoulders, as she knew that they were aware of the potential for failure. She did not want that dissuading the team. 

Bierce’s eyes glossed over as she began to fall into deeper thought, her hand tapping against her leg as she thought. The group conversed with each other as Bierce allowed herself to fall deeper into her thoughts of failure, the shadows growing longer, and her mind growing darker. 

What if Bierce could not get the ring before Malak took her soul? Then, she was doomed, as was Madeline. She would never get the chance to live the life she deserved, and Bierce would never be able to fix the biggest mistake she had ever made. To die with regrets was something Bierce wanted nothing of. Even if she needed to go to hell and suffer for the rest of eternity, to save the one who’s life she took, it would be worth it. 

“Bierce,” Ramona had stood, moving to sit in the seat next to Bierce, allowing the others to continue speaking without her, “we’re about to land. Did you want to hold my hand again?” Ramona’s voice sounded as if she was acting halfway between genuine concern and ruthless teasing. Bierce offered her a scowl, though it slowly fell apart into a slight smile. 

“I’m a grown woman, I can handle a descent without needing to hold your hand.” Bierce crossed her arms over her chest, closing her eyes. Though, after a moment of this charade, she opened one of her eyes. “However... I don’t know if you can handle it. Maybe you need to hold my hand?” 

Bierce watched Ramona chuckle under her breath, reaching over to grab Bierce’s hand despite the response. “You’re right. I’m absolutely terrified right now, I need to hold your hand, or I’m going to pass out.” Ramona’s voice was just as deadpan as Bierce’s had been earlier, and Bierce laughed once more, leaning her head on Ramona’s shoulder. The others seemed far too busy to notice, and Bierce wanted their closeness to continue. 

They spent the rest of the landing in silence, squished together, Bierce feeling a mutual understanding of how they felt, and no way to properly communicate it. They were not great with their words when they wished to be and sometimes breathed life into poetry accidentally. They were both human, and Bierce knew that they were rather imperfect in that. Bierce likely much more imperfect than Ramona was. 

London, while the smog darkened the sky and kept some of the charm hidden, was a breath of fresh air for Bierce. Something she had yet to taint with her own selfishness, somewhere that the memories were not all bad. There were warm memories of childhood that permeated from the streets, shops that her mother would hurry her along to, the first time riding in a taxi. However, to know that she had taken these experiences away from another brought the mood back down. 

Bierce found herself staring out the darkened panes of glass that made up the window of her taxi, catching her own reflection amongst the passing people in the streets. The dazzling lights of the darkening sky, the other vehicles, as well as the occasional carriage pulled by a horse. Ramona had shared this taxi with her, the others in another car. When Bierce could no longer tell whether she had devil’s horns or not, she turned from the window, unable to look. 

Bierce felt a light touch on her shoulder, looking up to see Ramona, seemingly concerned. Bierce offered her a smile, though she knew her look was still slightly off-put. 

“What? Not one to get homesick?” Ramona asked, Bierce now looking away from her. 

“I’m just thinking about... Well, I’m thinking about everything, I suppose. It’s a constant, it’s as if I’ve static electricity rumbling in my mind, a beehive of buzzing.” Bierce’s words were clunky, as if coming up with the terms she wished to use was difficult for her. “I wish I could have a moment of silence, Ramona. For a moment, it seemed as if I might, but my demons have followed me here.” Bierce’s eyes focused on nothing, focusing on making sure that she was still breathing. 

Bierce looked back to Ramona, who seemed to be listening to her jumbled speech. Ramona offered her a squeeze to her shoulder and a steady smile. “Well, I can’t exactly tell your regrets to shut up in your head. But I can try to distract you. Maybe we could steal away from the others for a bit later? I’ve not been to London for a period of time long enough to do any sightseeing, and you’ve probably got some memories near where we’re staying?” Bierce could tell that Ramona was trying to steer her thoughts away from her demons, and it was working to an extent. 

“Well... If we’re not caught sneaking out, and you can keep any enamoured fans off of me, I’d love to go for a little walk. It’ll be... Refreshing, at least. Being away from the manor, somewhere else...” Bierce looked back out the window, able to look past her reflection. 

“I don’t think we’re fooling anyone, Bierce. I’m pretty sure that even Ben knows I’ve been sleeping next to y--” 

“SHH!” 

“Bierce! He’s not even in the vehicle!” 

“But... Someone may hear you... Through the windows? I don’t know. I’m just... I’m still very nervous about... I don’t know, what if someone misconstrues our relationship as romantic?” 

“...” Bierce watched Ramona pinch the bridge of her nose. “It’s not like you confessed that you were falling in love with me or anything the other night.” Ramona’s voice was coated in sarcasm, and Bierce crossed her arms. 

“I was falling asleep. Platonic love. It’s not like we’re living in a Virginia Woolf novel, or, I mean, it’s not like either of us are Virginia Woolf or Vita Sackville-West.” 

“... You’re very well re--” 

“I have time to read sometimes!” Bierce huffed. “You’re... Rather well-read, too.” 

“I mean, I’d sure hope neither of us is Woolf nor Sackville-West, they aren’t exactly good at hiding what’s going on. Everyone knows that it’s meant to be Vita portrayed in Orlando.” 

“Exactly! Who wouldn’t understand that? I... Well... Ugh.” Bierce leant her cheek against the window, the coldness of the glass cooling down her already flushed cheeks. 

“So,” Ramona started, her voice shifting as if to explain a point, Bierce listening, “we both read famously sapphic authors, we share the same bed for long periods of time, you’ve told me you loved me...” Ramona punctuated each point by numbering them on her fingers. 

“Christ, I get it, I GET IT.” Bierce turned back to Ramona, her look sharp, but not particularly aggravated. “I’m... Ugh, you’re impossible sometimes. I’m impossible! I’ve no clue what I want on top of fixing my mess with satanism!” Bierce huffed once more, throwing her hands in the air as she spoke. 

“I’m trying to figure this out, too!” Ramona added, Bierce noting her frustrated expression, “You keep giving me mixed signals! How am I supposed to tell whether or not you’re joking with me, or whether you’re serious?” 

Bierce did not have an answer, going silent, her face still a deep red. “Well. I suppose we’ll have to see what I decide.” 

“That is not the answer I was looking for, y’know.” 

“I know. It’s a terrible answer. But it’s the only way I can keep my brain from malfunctioning with all of these thoughts and feelings floating around.” Bierce felt the vehicle come to the stop, and she quickly got out, Ramona following suit. 

This left behind a very confused driver, but that was not Bierce’s focus currently. She grabbed her baggage, both her and Ramona walking toward the entrance to the ritzy hotel. The hotel could be considered ritzy because it was the Ritz, the top tier for high society in London at the time. Bierce was used to luxury, and she had her late husband’s considerable fortune, she may as well spend it. As well, she liked to draw a spectacle to herself. She wore a pair of sunglasses to “hide” her identity, though it did nothing. Bierce had always dreamed of being in the limelight, might as well enjoy it. 

Bierce did not have too much time to appreciate the beauty of her surroundings, however. She was busy making a beeline for the hotel, knowing she had already attracted some attention from the murmurs in the people around them. Though she enjoyed it, she knew that it was best to get out of the danger of being mobbed. Check-in was smooth because of her status, however, the high chandeliers and trim of the lobby seemed to make Ramona somewhat uncomfortable. Her hands were drawn in at her sides, and she was standing tall, and Bierce could only assume that she felt she would break anything if she touched it. Bierce was quick to lead her upward, toward the room Bierce was going to be staying in, away from the situation she thought Ramona was uncomfortable in. 

Not that Bierce would usually care for anyone else’s comfort. But Ramona was, of course, a friend. She had to take care of her, it was part of their silent agreement. Part of their interdependence. Bierce was simply going the extra mile, and she cared about Ramona. Though, the thought made her stop in her tracks as they entered the lavish room. She dropped her bag onto the floor and collapsed face-first onto the plush bed. 

“You alright? You didn’t even stop for a photo-op with the vultures down there.” Ramona sat on the edge of the bed, Bierce feeling the movement as she sat. 

“I’m not always happy to be in the limelight,” Bierce said, muffled by the comforter before she turned her face to the side, looking up at Ramona as she lay there. “Well, that’s a lie. I’m usually happy about it, but, if I had someone looking shell-shocked standing next to me, not the kind of shock that translates to awe, but to being uncomfortable? Doesn’t look great in the tabloids.” 

“I’m just... Not a huge fan of crowds, you know? Claustrophobic. Like a bunch of sardines packed in oil, and they’re all clamouring to get to you. I’ve already got you, why would I fight to be in the crowd?” Ramona asked Bierce, who was left stunned by her verbal poetry, and very flattered. 

“I suppose you do have me, all wrapped around your finger. You’ve got me changing my behaviours for you. Such a bad influence on me.” Bierce rolled onto her back, her head now laying in Ramona’s lap. They were alone, and Bierce did not mind the intimacy when they were alone. 

“Bad influence on you? You’re the bad influence on me, Helen. You’ve got me drinking, staying up all night, practicing deviancy.” Ramona rest her hand on Bierce’s forehead, brushing back her untamable locks, sending a shiver down Bierce’s spine. Whenever someone played with her hair, she seemed to melt. 

“We could argue about who’s worse all day, Ramona. We both know that it’s you, and we both know that I’m going to win this argument. Being submissive isn’t exactly my strong suit, love.” 

“So many comments, so many ways I could take that, I’m not going to. I’m stronger than that.” Ramona contested, her fingers gently combing through Bierce’s hair again, Bierce closing her eyes as she took in the moment. Nobody else, no worries, Ramona had succeeded in distracting her. 

“If you’d like to render me absolutely unable to focus, keep doing that with my hair, why don’t you?” Bierce quipped quickly. 

“I thought you were enjoying it. Isn’t distraction what we were looking for?” 

“How can one actively look for distraction? Isn’t that contradictive in itself?” 

“Yet, even if it’s contradictive, we’ve still done it. And within it, we’ve found each other again, to relentlessly batter in verbal argument.” Ramona's statement caught Bierce off-guard, as did the moment Ramona booped her in the nose, Bierce reaching up to gently push her hand away. 

“What are you doing?!” Bierce scowled, sitting up. “I am not a child; you do not need to ‘boop’ my nose.” 

“Because your reactions are just. So, so over the top, and it’s hilarious. This is my favourite form of entertainment, Bierce. Instead of watching you act perfectly on the screen, I’d rather watch you act imperfectly here.” Ramona’s words, again, had their way of making Bierce feel truly valued. This made her scowl once again, how dare Ramona give her feelings. Bierce sat up, her face mere inches away from Ramona’s. She had no response to Ramona once again, having found herself speechless at most turns they took together. Bierce usually had an opinion on everything, and while she worked strategically on when to deploy them, with someone she was close with she would usually have something to say. Ramona took this power away from her. 

Their faces were still very close, Bierce’s eyes peering into Ramona’s, the forest colours of her hazel eyes feeling safe within Bierce, yet, she still felt a deep fluttering in her chest. Her emotions started to fluctuate in strange ways, Bierce’s eyes darting away. When she looked back, Ramona’s cheeks were just as dark as Bierce’s, her eyes unable to meet Bierce’s, either. 

Regardless of whether it was on purpose on either end or if it was simply an accident, Bierce’s lips brushed against Ramona’s, leaving a streak of red lipstick across the other’s lips. The softness of the encounter, the intimacy, the confusion. Bierce and Ramona’s eyes focused on each other, uncertain in what had happened. 

“Hey, how did you guys get here so fa--” Ben had been the one to barge in, Bierce having not locked the door behind her when they entered. Bierce jumped back from Ramona, smoothing down her blouse, clearing her throat. 

“It’s rather rude to come in unannounced, Ben,” Bierce said quickly, unable to meet his gaze. Bierce looked to Ramona, who was usually courageous, now looking off to the side as well. The lipstick had left its mark, and they had been caught red-handed. 

“I can... I can come back if now is a bad time.” Ben quickly followed up, Bierce noting that he was unable to look at either of them, either. This entire situation was just a mess. 

“No shit it’s a bad time, Ben!” Ramona turned to him, grabbing a decorative pillow from the bed, whipping it at him. Ben closed the door just in time to be shielded from the force of the pillow, supposedly having sensed the unwelcome atmosphere in the room. 

This left Bierce and Ramona alone again, awkward in their created situation, now just staring in opposite directions. 

“We... What... Just happened?” Bierce asked, feeling as if she were teetering dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, the mountainside below looking dangerous and rugged. 

Ramona simply shrugged, Bierce understanding the feeling of having no explanation. 

They just sat together, before Bierce could no longer contain her laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Ramona quickly joined in, both falling backward on the bed, cackling as if they were a couple of hyenas. 

“This is just... Way too much. Satanism and romantic subtext, we’ve got way too much going on, Bierce.” Ramona managed to speak between wheezes, having calmed down enough to stand. “We’re so ridiculous. Our conversations are beyond strange, our relationship is even stranger.” Ramona brought her hand to her own lips as Bierce watched, wiping the red off her lips with her sleeve, leaving a long red stain on the cuff of her blue blouse. 

“Ramona, what does it mean? Why do I feel as if my heart’s about to tear itself from the bars of my ribcage and bounce to the floor? Why is everything so confusing and off?” Bierce laughed once more, though, tears had pricked at the corners of her eyes. Nothing made sense anymore, and though she was in a town that was once so familiar, everything seemed so foreign. 

“I’m... Unsure. I hope it means something good. I hope that it... I don’t know. Words aren’t working right now, Bierce. I think the others wish to speak with us, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.” Ramona turned her back to Bierce, who almost wished to pull her back and figure out this bizarre sensation in her head. 

“... Very well, love.” Bierce stood, taking a deep, long, drawn-out breath. It calmed her and allowed her to keep her composure. “However, I finally agree with you, we should talk about this.” 

“It’s not like it’s exactly a secret to keep anymore,” Ramona remarked, making Bierce think back to Ben’s rude intrusion. Bierce was now anxious over whether Ben would tell the rest of them, whether her secret would be breathed to the public, even though it was not something that was actively punishable, it would still impact her image. 

“Not, but I’d certainly like to keep it if possible. Do you want to go beat Ben into submission?” Bierce asked, deadpan, yet joking. 

It seemed as if Ramona did not understand that Bierce was joking and offered her quite a strange look. “You can’t use violence to solve all of your problems, Bierce.” 

“It was worth a shot, Ramona. Let’s stop being cringe-worthy and go meet our company.”


	10. Reeks of desperation, doesn’t it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bierce and Ramona walk around London after dinner after a lively dinner conversation with the entire research team.

“I’m not saying that Orlando wasn’t sapphic in its content, I’m simply saying that Woolf and Sackville-West being in a relationship is an unfounded claim,” Ben spoke, leaning his elbow on the table-cloth bathed table the group sat around. 

“Ben, I swear to god, you’re fu-… You’re delusional.” Ramona seemed to check her language in the high-class atmosphere of the restaurant, Bierce feeling appreciative for it. 

“No, I’m not! They were both married, with husbands.” Ben retorted, moving the glass he held in his hand as he spoke, the dark red liquid inside sloshing about as he did. Bierce’s eyes followed, wondering if it would fall onto the floor of the restaurant. 

“I, though I’ve yet to read it, heard it was a good exploration of the two sexes and the areas between,” Rosemary came into the conversation, potentially attempting to find common ground. 

“Yes, but even if Woolf was exploring sexuality and sex in her work, that doesn’t mean that she was in a relationship. They were simply friends, nothing more.” 

“Actually,” Norman began, coming out of his usual silence during the group’s heated debates, “I’ve got to agree with Ramona. They wrote each other love letters, Benjamin.” 

“There’s a logical explanation that doesn’t involve a relationship. They were both wordsmiths by trade, writing poetry is simply how they expressed their feelings of friendship for each other. We’re taking it out of context by inferring that they had a relationship.” 

“Ben. You’re not going to win this argument,” Bierce cut in, “while understanding that we could be taking them out of context, but, I doubt if I read these letters aloud at the table, much to the two’s dismay, nobody would protest that the writings were not romantic in nature.” 

Ben grumbled though he seemed to leave it alone for the moment. Bierce was glad, this argument had gone on far too long. Though, even if they were arguing, it was nice to share a meal with the rest of her gaggle. She had been properly eating due to Ramona’s influence, at least when she was not substituting meals with cigarettes and hard liquor. To hear the others have a lively conversation over something so trivial was music to Bierce’s ears, even if she was on a very clear side of the argument. Their bond strengthened through this, or, Bierce felt as if their comradery was increasing. 

“Oh, Ramona, you’ve stained your sleeve,” Rosemary said aloud, Bierce watching Rosemary’s gaze fall on the red smear across her sleeve. The attention at the table turned to Ramona, who’s face had become somewhat darker at this observation. The conversation had quieted down, and Bierce’s eyes darted to everyone else, all of them in wait of what Ramona would say. 

“... Oh, looks like I have. Clumsy me. Must’ve gotten some wine on it, seeing how carelessly Ben sloshes his around.” Ramona showed Bierce how she could collect herself, even in the wake of an embarrassing encounter. Bierce, laughing at her comment about Ben, looked back across the table at Rosemary, who had let the realization of Ramona’s stain go. It seemed to Bierce that Rosemary was the only one left out of the loop, as Ben had walked in on Ramona and her sharing a moment, and Norman had known from the get-go. She felt somewhat bad leaving her out of it, though she knew it was for the better. 

“So. Bierce. You’re all ready for tomorrow? We might have all you’ve been after before we’ve even had lunch. What will you do with yourself, then?” Norman asked Bierce, who had just lifted her glass to her lips, sipping her wine. 

“Well, I guess... Business as usual. Back to the acting world, back to the life I’ve always wanted. Not to say I wouldn’t miss the lot of you.” Bierce laughed, attempting to cover up her nervousness around the subject of her whims. As the others had not heard of her wicked deeds, Bierce would not be able to explain her true intentions with the ring, and therefore kept silent about it. “Though, when this is over, I suppose we deserve some time away from research and travelling to random locations. Maybe head somewhere tropical, let loose?” 

“God, I’d love to sit under a palm tree, drinking something alcoholic and fruity.” Ben sighed, resting his face in his palm, poking absently at his food from what Bierce could see. Bierce shared a similar sentiment, wanting relaxation, though she knew she did not deserve it. 

“I... Believe I’m going to turn in early tonight. Get some rest before we head over to the cathedral in the morning.” Bierce spoke, trying to come up with an alibi for both Ramona and her to sneak out together under the radar of the others. Ramona seemed to catch on to this, as she nodded in agreement. 

“Yes,” Ramona began, “I think I’m rather exhausted from the flight. I suppose I should go to bed early as well; I want to be at my best. But when am I not?” Ramona struck a quick pose, causing Bierce and the others to chuckle slightly. 

Bierce looked to Norman, who was giving her a knowing look. Bierce offered the look right back, not allowing him to get on her nerves any longer. If anything, when she and Ramona shared a moment together in her room, it had made her even more confident than before. If Norman wanted to make a joke, get on her nerves, Bierce would be happy to entertain him. She felt somewhat liberated, even though she was still sneaking around. 

The conversation continued as normal, Bierce listening attentively, though occasionally throughout the conversation, she found her eyes focusing on Ramona specifically. The features of her face, how the freckles danced and created galaxies that spurred across her skin, giving life to countless universes right then and there. Bierce eventually shook herself out of it, chastising her brain for writing internal poetry about Ramona again where someone could quickly notice her staring. 

Dinner wrapped up, as was usual, everyone heading up to their respective rooms with wine in their systems and an exhausting flight behind them. Bierce made her way to her own room, and while she would usually be dressing in her pajamas, she was picking out a suitable outfit for the night she had planned. 

A soft knock on Bierce’s door caused Bierce to jump. She felt nervous about this, unsure if she had dressed properly. A black dress, though unlike her usual evening attire, the shoulders of this dress were made up of lace patterns, the skirt falling just below her knees. The sleeves of delicate lace patterns fell to her wrists, and she found herself playing with them, attempting to soothe a nervous conscience. She had pulled a topcoat over herself, grey and comforting. The weight kept her stuck to the ground instead of floating away. Bierce quickly checked in the mirror to ensure that she was not a fright, before opening the door. Ramona was standing there, wearing black, woolen trousers with a red and white vertically striped shirt tucked into them. She looked quite dashing, and Bierce hummed in approval. 

“Are you ready? I don’t want you to get paranoid that someone had seen us leaving.” Ramona asked Bierce, who put on her ‘disguise sunglasses’ and nodded. 

“I think we both deserve a little adventure outside of work. This is likely one of the only nights we’ll be in London, and I’d love to go for a stroll.” Bierce admitted, slipping out of the door and locking it behind her. The key was tucked into her pocket, and they headed off, making their way from the hotel. 

“I believe the one thing that confused me the most when I immigrated with my parents to London... It was how spaced out the homes were. Here...” Bierce looked around the quiet street there were walking along, a neighbourhood, where people lived their lives, “Everything is so condensed. Not that I mind it too much...” 

“I can see what you mean, seems like a fire hazard. One house goes up, the rest of them do.” Ramona replied, Bierce, looking at the worn bricks of the housing, the cement that made up the street. It was all too familiar. Bierce smelt the nostalgia in the air, and she remembered walking this street as a small child. Though instead of holding her mother’s hand, she was holding Ramona’s, their hands idly swaying together as they walked under the cover of darkness, under a million stars blotted out by the smog. 

“I lived here once. Until I was about... God, I suppose I would’ve been...” Bierce stopped to do the math in her head, “Nine. Right after the bombs fell over England. My parents were fearful, and... Well, my father knew trends rather well, knew what would happen after the war. Took us to America to live, away from the threat of the Germans.” Bierce explained, still remembering the unstable situation she had experienced at such a young age. 

“I can’t imagine. I was over in America the whole time, didn’t start travelling until after the war had ended. It must’ve been... Something. That’s for sure.” Ramona looked down, and Bierce was unsure why she was not meeting her gaze. “Where are your parents now, Bierce?” 

Bierce mulled over what she should tell Ramona, though, she had been honest with her so far, it would make no difference now. 

“My father passed of a heart attack while I was in my early twenties, and my mother still lives in a small home in L.A. We don’t exactly... Speak often. After we moved, she was somewhat cold toward me. I believe she always blamed me for the move. For my safety as their child, I guess? I don’t think she ever wanted to leave London...” 

“Well, mothers sure love to project their issues onto their children. I wouldn’t doubt it. It still... It’s not exactly what I’d like to hear about your childhood. I wish everyone could’ve had a great childhood, maybe then our lives wouldn’t be so... Messed up.” 

“You never elaborated on what happened to your parents, Ramona. If you’re not comfortable, I understand...” Bierce looked toward her, their fingers lacing together more tightly as they walked. 

“I suppose that it’s only fair, you just poured your childhood traumas into me, I should return the favour.” Ramona sighed, Bierce, listening to what she had to say. “My father worked himself to death. All he wanted was something good for me, same with my mother. I was about eighteen when one of the vehicles he was working on pinned him to the ground and he bled out. Mom couldn’t live with the grief, she just let herself waste away.” Ramona’s voice was serious, grave, unlike her usual self. “That’s the short version, anyway.” 

“Oh. God, Ramona. I had... No ide-” 

“Stop. No pity, no apologies. It was a... It was a while ago now. I’ve moved on, I’m figuring myself out and making the most out of the life they left for me. The hard work they did so that I could have everything I do now. The books, the education. It was all them, and now I’ve got to prove that I was worth it.” 

Bierce stopped, not taking another step. These words had caused something to flicker within her. “You still think you’ve not proven yourself? You’ve been halfway around the globe, with numerous qualifications from different institutions, you’ve cemented yourself as someone in this world when the world you’re in doesn’t particularly like you, and you’re still trying to prove yourself?” 

“Well, yes. There’s still so much more to be done. There’s the ring we have to find, there’s so much more knowledge, so much more I can do!” 

“Ramona, don’t make finding the ring something that will complete you. You know that it won’t, I know that it won’t. Don’t make me a part of that, either. You’ve already completed so many amazing feats... If you’ve not proven yourself to yourself, you’ve certainly proven yourself to me.” 

Ramona was silent, and Bierce could not determine what she was thinking about. “Stop it, Helen, you’re going to get a girl all emotional.” Ramona laughed, likely trying to play down the moment. Bierce gave her hand another squeeze, solidifying what she said. That was when she realized exactly where she was. 

“Ah. Look,” Bierce looked at the home in front of them. It did not stand out particularly, it was the same brick and mortar that made up the other joint homes, yet, it was very noticeable for Bierce. “This is where I lived nearly two decades ago...” Bierce reflected, looking back and forth before letting go of Ramona’s hand, stepping into the yard, touching the bricks with her hand. They were cold, unforgiving, and familiar. Just like her mother. 

“Upper-class. Well off kid?” Ramona asked, staying out of the yard while Bierce reflected. Bierce came back out, not wanting anyone’s dog to run after her. 

“We were comfortable.” Bierce retook Ramona’s hand, but she was unable to stop staring at the house. 

“That’s code for ‘we were rich’.” 

“... Fine, we had money. Not the considerable amount I have now, of course.” 

“It’s a good upbringing when you’re supported. At least you didn’t have to deal with that...” Ramona sighed, their arms swinging in unison once again as they walked away from the home, Bierce stealing one final look before it moved out of sight. 

“You’re right. I didn’t quite have to handle any financial burden. Just the emotional one...” Bierce shared another sigh with Ramona, walking with her into a shopping district. 

They passed little shops, occasionally stopping to peer into a window or a display. It was strange to simply be normal after so long. Almost like an actual date, almost as if they could be normal after all they had seen. Bierce occasionally stole glances at Ramona’s face lit up under the streetlights, the light careening over her features and causing Bierce’s heart to palpitate. 

Cars drove by, the ambience of the noises around them adding to the fantasy that they could normalize themselves. People spoke as they walked past, not recognizing Bierce to her delight. The puddles left behind in the chilly autumn air being splashed in by the tires of vehicles passing, the click of the horses' hooves of carriages that also made their way down the street. It all cumulated in a beautiful symphony of their surroundings, their hearts beating together. 

They walked across the Westminster bridge, looking out over the Thames, hand in hand. It was certainly strange to find themselves in this situation, but Bierce did not mind, and Ramona did not seem to mind, either. 

“... I’ve never told anyone so much about my life, Ramona.” Bierce commented, her voice wavering in the unease she felt in expressing this. 

“If it makes you feel better, not too many people know about my life story, either.” Ramona shot back, her eyes sparkling under the open sky full of burning stars. 

Bierce found herself somewhat choked for words again, playing with the hem of her sleeve with her free hand. “... Did we kiss earlier? I’ve... Well, whenever I kissed my late husband, it was nothing like that. It was always... Rough, I wanted to be somewhere else. When our lips brushed earlier, it was soft, breathtaking. I didn’t want to be anywhere else, I just wanted to be with you.” 

“I don’t know if we did,” Ramona replied, her hand holding Bierce’s stronger, Bierce enjoying the contact. They both looked over the river, not facing each other as the information swirled into the thickness of the night. “I... It wasn’t quite a proper kiss, was it? It was more... An accident. A happy accident, but an accident.” 

“Could we try a proper one?” Bierce asked, some unforeseen courage having welled inside of her after all the romantic tension. The look Ramona gave her looked to be one of surprise, but not one that was angered by the request. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. See if it’s something... Something that we enjoy.” Ramona agreed, Bierce finding that there was nobody on the bridge aside from the cars that sped by. They were truly alone, allowed to express whatever feelings had built up. 

Bierce cleared her throat, the anxiety, self-consciousness, uncertainty wreaking havoc on her mind. She waved it away, turning to face Ramona, her face a colour akin to a tomato. “I think. I might be ready. But only if you are.” 

“I imagined you to be suaver. What, with the accent, the look. All of the practice in acting.” Ramona laughed, making Bierce go even darker. 

“It’s different there. They may be done up, the men I costar with, but they don’t have the perfect qualities you possess without even trying.” Bierce retorted, her confidence already fading. 

However, Bierce was left with a blank slate for a mind very quickly. 

The warmth of Ramona’s palm against Bierce’s cheek, her other hand resting on Bierce’s hip. Bierce felt the other’s lips, full, warm, soft. There was so much information flooding her nerves, a myriad of different emotions as they kissed atop of the Westminster bridge. The traffic sped by, but Bierce hardly noticed as their lips locked together. Her eyes were closed, her brain pounding against her skull. She was lost in the moment, wrapped in a thin sheet of pure euphoria, just for the moment. 

It was as if the moment lasted both years, and seconds, all wrapped up into the same package. This was when Ramona stepped away, offering Bierce a look as if to ask if she was okay. 

“... Why haven’t we done this sooner, Ramona?” Bierce managed to ask, having had to wait a few moments before she could speak again. Ramona had truly taken her breath away, and it showed. 

“Because you’ve been so timid the entire time, afraid. And...” Ramona chuckled. “I suppose I have been, too.” 

Bierce noticed that her lipstick had transferred over to Ramona’s lips once again, and she also began to chuckle. “I think that red is your colour, Ramona.” 

“Did you get lipstick all over me again?! I almost died of embarrassment when Rosemary pointed out my sleeve from earlier.” Ramona put her hands on her own hips, letting go of Bierce to scorn her. 

Bierce rolled her eyes. “We’ll be more careful next time, love. But I quite like the prospect of you covered in my lipstick.” 

It was Ramona’s turn to turn a darker shade, Bierce smirking, knowing her hard work had paid off. Ramona gave her a playful shove, before wrapping her in her arms once again, Bierce enjoying the closeness they shared. 

“Do you think we could try that whole kissing business again? I don’t know if I got the full experience that second time.” Bierce quickly added, their foreheads pressed together as they made intense eye contact, locking in a rather significant conversation. 

“... Who am I to say no to a request like that?” Ramona asked aloud, though Bierce knew it was rhetorical. 

The moon shone over the Thames, leaving a trail of moonlight cascading over the ripples in the water. The stars and the streetlamps glimmered over the surface of the river, painting a picture of perfection. Though, Bierce took no notice in this wonder, as she was looking into the perfection of Ramona.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitch, they smoochin'?


	11. I don't think he likes you very much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with a reflection and a meaningful breakfast.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Helen Bierce. You are an absolute buffoon and you deserve nothing but the worst in the world.” Bierce spoke, looking at her own reflection in the mirror. She was giving herself a stern talking to, the door closed so that a still slumbering Ramona could not hear her berate herself. How carefully Bierce had to stealth her way out from Ramona’s arms to avoid waking her up, she did not wish to wake her with yelling. The sun had yet to rise, and Bierce was left in a dimly lit bathroom, speaking angrily to a reflection. 

“You’re going to just. Ugh,” Bierce pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes shutting tightly as she spoke to herself. “You can’t get involved. You said: ‘hey, this would be a very nice friendship to be involved in, at least I’ll have some peer support and be able to vent my frustrations’ but no! Here you are, sharing romantic encounters over the THAMES RIVER?!” Bierce threw her hands in the air before she ran her hands through her locks, groaning. “I’m such an idiot... I’ve fallen for someone again while indebted to a demon.” 

“Not just any demon,” Malak spoke, appearing in the mirror, causing Bierce to stumble back, “the demon, Malak.” 

“Jesus H. Christ, you fucking lunatic. Not the best time, Malak. I’m having a crisis.” Bierce snapped back, not in the mood. 

“I’m literally a demon, Bierce. This is what I do. Now, I’ve been working on claiming some other souls in other parts of the world, but I heard you two kissed? Is this some story-book romance between a child-murderer and someone who’s too good for her?” Malak asked, crossing his arms in the mirror. Bierce stared daggers back at him, ready to retort. 

“Yes, I have feelings for Ramona. You knew this from the beginning, and yes, you can say that you called it. It doesn’t matter right now, all that matters is... Oh, god... I’m going to hurt her. My past is going to hurt her, I’m going to just... Everything I touch turns to rubbish, everything I love... I hurt.” Bierce ran a hand through her hair once again, gripping and tugging on her scalp, trying to figure something, anything out. Nothing made sense. “I just experienced some of the highest highs I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m still here wallowing in self-pity and anxiety!” 

“Wait, slow down, Bierce. You two kissed, and I know I see everything, but I’ve been rather busy. Did... Did y--” 

“You are not asking me that right n—No. Malak? What makes you think you have the right to even insinua—AAGH!” Bierce put her head in her hands, a deep sigh erupting from her chest. “No. Nothing like that.” 

“Jesus, I was just asking. We’re both adults here, god.” Malak began to laugh; Bierce was sure this was because of her desperation. “You are such a pitiful woman, Bierce.” 

“You- You’re pulling the strings here, aren’t you? You’re influencing this, you’re making me crazy, you’re driving me into falling for Ramona.” Bierce accused, though she knew it was unfounded and she was grasping at straws. 

“You’re delusional, Bierce. One, you’re hallucinating about a demon in a mirror. Two, you’re just... Very, very good at batting for the other team, I suppose.” Malak was nonchalant about the situation, and this made Bierce rather upset. 

“No. You’re not allowed to make jokes about this right now. I’m living this nightmare of knowing that what I’ve done is going to impact the people I care about, and at the same time, I can’t stop making meaningful connections!” Bierce scowled at the mirror, realizing how ridiculous this was. “And now you’re here to gloat, or just to mess with my head.” 

“I’m here because you’re still trying to change the course of fate you’ve steered yourself into, and I like to check up on how that’s going from time to time.” Malak defended himself, Bierce having managed to breathe and calm herself. 

“Listen. Why don’t you fuck off for the rest of the day, let me deal with the... Well. We kissed on a bridge in the moonlight. Does that mean that we’re involved?” 

“Bierce, for such an intelligent woman, your skull is very thick. Yes, I would assume so, or, maybe you should just talk to her?” 

“And take dating advice from a demon?!” Bierce snapped. 

“You asked me! I swear, Bierce. I’ve never seen you this irate. I suppose I’ve got my work cut out for me.” 

Bierce was about to reply, however, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt two arms wrap around her from behind. A quick look cemented the fact that it was Ramona and not a demon that was wrapped around her. Ramona had rested her chin on Bierce’s shoulder, and Bierce quickly calmed. Though, looking back into the mirror, she saw that Malak was gone. 

“How much did you hear? I didn’t hear you open the door.” Bierce spoke, now leaning on the sink, glad to have the contact, even if it made her nervous of what was to come. 

“Last minute or two. The Demon came to visit this morning, didn’t he?” Ramona asked, though her voice was muffled by Bierce’s shoulder. This was when Bierce realized how close they were, and let her face grow dark. 

“Yes. He... Did. I... God, Ramona. Was last night real? Was I dreaming? If I was, then I dreamt that I fell in love.” Bierce was quick to admit this, especially with the encouragement the physical contact gave her. “And... It scares me, Ramona. I’m terrified.” 

“I know I don’t show it, but, I’m just as scared. You’re a well-known actress that dabbles in satanism! But, I’m still here, right? I’ve not left.” Ramona’s words made Bierce’s chest flutter, as had been common in the last 24 hours. 

“... I don’t want to hurt you. Either through my actions or physically because of the whole... Well, demon business. I want to make that clear.” Bierce’s words were pleading as if she were trying to convince herself. 

“You’ve not done anything yet, and I don’t think Malak can influence you further while you’re under contract. And... You don’t have... Ugh. You don’t seem to have violent tendencies? You’ve never put any of us in danger, even though you’ve had your outbursts. I think the only real time you were violent, aside from the time you poisoned your husband, was influenced by Malak. You’re also trying to fix it, and we’ve been over that. I’m willing to try to make this work.” 

“I... Believe I’m wanting to try this... Too. Not just friends. I’m not in denial anymore, even though I am most definitely in denial.” Bierce turned to face Ramona, now resting her head against the taller woman’s chest. 

“Oh? Are you going to say it? Are you going to make a declaration of what we are?” Ramona seemed to have piqued interest in this, Bierce clearing her throat. 

“Well. I... Suppose I am. We’re...” Bierce searched for the right words. “We’re best friends?” Bierce attempted, and Ramona’s face dropped in a joking fashion. 

“That settles it, I’m packing up and leaving on the next flight, Bierce. You’ve lost me.” Ramona’s words were played up, Bierce catching on, offering her a fake pout. 

“No. Wait. Best friends forever?” Bierce tried, though her own laughter took her out of it. This caused Ramona to reach up, roughing up Bierce’s violent snarls of a mane. 

“You should get ready; we’ve got a ring to hunt down today.” Ramona reminded her, though, she did not move away from their embrace. 

Bierce’s confidence had been built up once again through the confirmation that she was trying to fix her problems. She leant forward, pressing a soft kiss to Ramona’s cheek. “Well, then, get out so I can do my complicated morning rituals.” Bierce let her go, turning back to the mirror, getting ready to do up her makeup. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll sneak back to my room, so the others don’t question anything. Even though two-thirds of them already know.” Ramona laughed, taking a step toward the door. 

“I’d tell you to stay, but all of your clothing is still in your room. Can’t get ready for much with nothing to wear.” Bierce quipped; Ramona having left shortly after. She gave the mirror a steady look, knowing Malak was not coming back, unable to follow what Ramona had just expressed. 

Breakfast was surprisingly tame. Quiet. Bierce was far too nervous to talk to Ramona, Ben was nearly falling asleep in his eggs from what Bierce could see, Rosemary was her normal, chipper self, happy to be going over the plan for the rest of the day. Norman ate breakfast, occasionally casting a knowing gaze Bierce’s way, much to her dismay. This was the usual set up to their breakfasts, and Bierce was somewhat glad to have some normalcy. 

Terror was on the menu for breakfast as well, as every attempt for the ring had landed in failure and seemed to cause some disheartened feelings in their little group. Every moment was another moment gone, one that Bierce would not get back, and one that would not matter if they did not get the ring. Though, a peculiar thought had crossed her mind this morning as everyone talked amongst the table. These moments brought her a sense of joy, to spend time with those who she argued with and teased. Maybe the moments would matter even if she did not get the ring. The memories would subsist even if her soul was taken. Or, so she hoped. Regardless of her renewed comradery, the ring felt further out of reach. Maybe it was time to focus more on the journey, instead of the ring, even though this would likely dishearten Ramona even further than another failure. 

“Bierce, what do you think?” Ben asked Bierce, a question in response to a conversation Bierce had been a million miles away from. Bierce blinked at him, being drawn back into the moment, back to reality. 

“I’m sorry, I was... I was somewhere else completely.” Bierce admitted. 

“Are you alright? You seem distracted.” Norman finally chimed in, Bierce turning toward him to reply. 

“Well... I suppose I’m just... I’m thinking about what we’re about to do. I’m wondering if we’ll find the ring. The usual thoughts we all have. Though, it seems as if I’ve thought of it endlessly... As if we all have.” Bierce sighed; her voice laced with a small amount of sadness that she had not corrected. 

“It’s a fifty/fifty chance every time we go out,” Norman put it simply, attempting to soothe Bierce’s concerns, “I’m sure that we’re likely to find it eventually, if not now, maybe on the next attempt.” 

“It seems like we’re perpetually losing, though. Not to say we’ve made too many attempts; however, I’m finding myself faltering.” Bierce felt herself falling from grace, nosediving, the anxiety threatening to draw her back in. 

“No matter, we’re on our way to another attempt, and we’ve either got the ring, or we’re narrowing down our search criteria.” Ben came through, offering some much-needed hope at the moment. Bierce took a moment to look over at him, giving him a long, steady look as she mulled over his words. It was a sentiment that was expressed often in their circle, though, hearing him break his holier than thou façade and try to keep her afloat was somewhat meaningful as she heard it. 

“... You’re right, Ben.” Bierce quickly said, turning her attention back to her deep thought, allowing the conversation around the table to continue. It was like she was behind a shield of frosted glass, left with her own concerns, though some of them had been soothed by the words she had been offered. Every attempt for the ring had resulted in this anxiety, this emptiness in her chest. A demon stronger than Malak that threatened to pull her under the waves of her own mind, pulling her into doubt. However, Ben’s words rang true to her, and she would not let it drown her. 

The brick walls of the holy halls Bierce was to be dragged off to after breakfast, however, may be the anchor that pulls her deeper. There were no expectations, nothing that she held her hand out for, expecting to receive. The visit to the church was an enigma, even if she had prepared for it for about a week. Memories of long sermons, in the best dress she had, as she sat in a pew, listening to the carefully crafted words from the preacher. 

It all seemed so far away. Bierce had now sold her soul off to a demon, any semblance of religion left in her life was now devoted to the other side, something far from what she had been surrounded by in her youth. At least she knew that God existed, as well as the devil. Atop of that, she knew that demons existed in droves, including Malak, and by description, herself. Being described by a myriad of the seven deadly sins, having taken a life; she and Malak had more in common than she was comfortable with. 

Would Bierce even be permitted by unseen forces to enter the church? Would her skin begin to burn, the steps behind her bursting into flame? 

Bierce sank further into the chair, the prospect of their failure now less daunting compared to the trouble her mortal soul may have been in. She felt nauseous, but that was normal for most mornings depending on what she had partaken in the night before. However, she was sober, awake, and very aware of what she had done. Not that organized religion was anything truly holy, especially in the churches she had frequented as a child and in her young adult years, but the fear instilled in her persisted. 

“You’re so far away. You’re in space, floating around,” Ramona whispered, the others still talking amongst themselves, “Need to talk about it more, or, am I prying?” 

“... Just wondering when my horns and tail will come in. Wondering if they’ll look too harsh against my hair, or if I’ll be able to work them.” Bierce replied, not bothering to look back at Ramona, simply sipping from her glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while to finally put it out. I've been the victim of writer's block for a while. I may be for a bit longer, but Chapter 12 is in the works. Thank you for reading once again.


	12. An unmarked grave. It must be hers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes to a church after hours.

The beautiful mosaic of stained glass highlighting the shapes of biblical figures in the tall windows was the first thing that Bierce laid eyes on. It was something she remembered, vaguely. Not the same church, of course, but a different one. The way the lights danced and dazzled around the room as the morning sun illuminated the holy building. It was something to keep her interest as a bored child. Something she had once enjoyed. Now, she felt uneasy. Every step along the stone was uncertain, even as she walked alongside her crew. 

However, Bierce did not burst into flames as she entered the building. She walked in, just as the others had, though she continued to feel the pit in her stomach grow with every moment she spent in the church. 

“So,” Rosemary began, “are we going to start attempting to knock heads off of statues to reveal hidden passages?” The question was tentative. Nobody wanted to cause any damage to the very old structure. 

“No. No destruction of religious imagery.” Ben cut in. 

“But... It’s just a long hall. There’s nothing. Nowhere that it seems something may be hiding for us.” Rosemary looked around, cloaked in the morning multi-coloured blanket the stained glass created as she turned in a full circle. The pews were lined up neatly, the intricate stonework sitting stoically. It was indeed just a church. 

“We’re looking for clues, genius. We’re looking closely at figures, looking for any anomalies, imagery of Malak.” Ben replied, taking a closer look at a statuette on the wall. 

“You know... I came across something interesting yesterday when looking at our travel plan for the middle east.” Norman began, though, it seemed as if only Ramona had clued in. Everyone else was still searching feverishly, though carefully. Bierce had heard him but was eying the confessional, wondering if she should confess to her sins at any point. This was a silly thought, as her soul was already damned. She continued to look with the others. 

“Having imagery of demons in a church seems like... The un-catholic thing to do. Even when they are in the art, they’re usually being defeated. Why would Malak tie his power to one of his least proud moments?” Rosemary asked, knocking over an unlit candle, and quickly scrambling to put it back in its place. They were lucky to be allowed access, and they were very lucky it was not Sunday. 

“Demons are mysterious, Rosemary.” Ben retorted, his meticulous gaze now moving from the statue. 

“Something about Malak...” Norman continued, Bierce now turning to give him her full attention. Rosemary and Ben were still off bickering about the oddity of demons. They had yet to find anything, despite their combing. 

“Well,” Bierce looked to Norman, “tell us what we’ve missed.” Bierce knew relatively little about the demon that had the rights to her soul, as his biography had not exactly been released. 

“In Arabic,” Norman began, slowly walking over to a statue of a winged figure, halo above their head, hands clasped together in prayer, “’Malak’ means ‘angel’.” 

This caused Ben to stop and whip his head around to look at Norman. “Well, all demons are fallen angels, of course. This is interesting, but it does not offer too much information about our demon in question.” 

“It does," Ramona said, looking over to the statue of the angel as well, she seemed to be taking this as a revelation. “Why would he choose this name? To keep the name of something harmful? What kind of demon is he to have a name like this, and what kind of angel would have been in heaven? Something is... Off about this.” 

“You’re right about that.” A voice shook through the brick of the ancient structure, booming around all five of them without prejudice. They all heard its presence, and Bierce could tell from the look on their faces. What she would only describe as fear, and she was sure her own face showed it as well. 

Malak materialized, his sleek black suit and his soulless stare on full display as he stood at the altar as if he were giving all of them a sermon. 

“Demons, gods... Angels. It’s all complicated, written in many books over many years...” Malak looked at the black, sharp claws that graced his hands. Bierce stared at them, wondering what may happen if he got too angry at the lot of them. “Some get it right more than others, some fail horribly. All I know is that humans draw blood over what they believe is the right ideology.” Malak was rather nonchalant in his manner of speaking, and though it was quiet, it resonated in the walls of the church. 

“How can you even be here, Malak? You’re a demon, this is a church.” Ben said what they were all thinking, matter of fact in his statement, standoffish. 

“You truly think that a construct of mortals could contain me?” Malak asked in Ben’s direction, taking a step closer. “No. Only that of someone who’s power is on par with mine, and usually, the deities you may refer to as ‘God’ do not care about pitiful places of worship. Demons infiltrate them constantly; they simply wear the skin of your kind to deceive you.” 

“... Malak, we’ve no time for you. We’re a little busy at the moment.” Bierce finally cut in, having become sick of this back and forth. She already knew about the convoluted nature of organized religion and the similarities of Judaism, Islam and Christianity. She did not need Malak to give her an impromptu lecture on these factors. 

“You also have no right to be impatient with me. Your time belongs to me.” Malak took a step closer to Bierce. He was likely two meters from her now, his hands folded behind him as he bent to get a closer look into her eyes, the black voids of his eyes causing Bierce to hesitate. Her breathing stopped. He was so close, and he could do as he wanted. What was stopping a demon from adhering to a contract? 

“Not yet, you don’t,” Ramona spoke, stepping between them both, arms folded over her chest, back to Bierce. “You’re not one to back out of a contract, otherwise, you’d lose her soul.” 

“One that’s done her homework, I see. You’d also know that this does not apply to visual and auditory hallucinations if you’re as well-read as I think. I know that you’ve all seen me, and that’s done nothing to deter you from assisting a murderer in her quest.” 

“Stop trying, then,” Rosemary said, her voice small from what Bierce could hear. 

“Yes, I doubt you’ll be able to deter us now if we’ve already come this far, halfway across the globe with her multiple times.” Norman backed everyone else up, and Bierce no longer felt as small compared to Malak. 

“Stop?” Malak laughed, shaking his head. “This is just the beginning. I wanted to give you a fair warning before I turned up the intensity. Help Helen Bierce, and you will find that there are fates worse than death that await you.” 

“Fuck off.” Ramona retorted to Malak’s uncaring face. He simply nodded his head, and without another word, disintegrated into nothing. 

The walls began to contort. The previously dazzling lights from the windows no longer stationary, they now moved with the spinning surroundings. The others let out the occasional exclamation of confusion, Bierce understanding that they were also experiencing something similar. Ramona grunted, and Bierce, through the swarms of bees that buzzed through her brain, attempted to reach for her. She fell, but she had left this reality before she hit the ground. 

The table was set, a small tea set with cups and saucers at each of the place settings, each of the small chairs full. The carefully crafted porcelain cups were painted with dainty little flowers, pinks and purples, green leaves. They were old but well cared for. Bierce sat at the head of the rectangular table, a cup of tea in front of her, a cupcake with pastel pink frosting in a perfect swirl on the plate. 

The other guests of the tea party had been given similar treatment. The stuffed bear to her left, a light shade of brown, probably having been darker earlier in its life. It was well-loved, much of the careful fur having gone, leaving most of it bare. It had glassy, black eyes, and it cast judgement onto Bierce. The stuffed guests were well dressed, as this teddy bear wore an older style jacket and slacks. Beside him was a cat made of navy fabric, obviously made by someone making their best attempt, but not professional quality. She had a fabric flower behind her ear, and she wore a white lace dress, yellow stains bombarding it. She was well-loved, as well. Across from the cat, there sat a lamb. He had been improperly washed, and his wool had been matted to his sides. He wore a blue suit jacket, frayed, messy. Someone had been rough with him in his time, though, he had still been cared for in order to still exist. 

To her immediate right, Bierce found there to be a bunny rabbit. A soft, reddish-brown. She had doe-eyes, much like the colour of her fur. It was pristine as if she had just come from the store, a soft lilac bow around her neck, wearing a dress like the cat’s. Homemade. It had the same cup of tea the others had in front of it, though it stood out against the other worn nature of the other animals. 

Bierce began to think. A tea party. Why was she sitting at such a small, handcrafted table? Who was at the other end? She looked over the centrepiece of purple wildflowers and dandelions, looking to see who sat opposite to her. 

“... I haven’t seen you in a long time. Three years’ what I’ve heard. Time’s weird here.” 

Bierce glanced down. The face of this individual was not one she wished to see at this moment, she looked at her lap, a deep sense of shame washing over her. Her heart was in her throat, her hands beginning to shake in her lap. Such a trivial place to have a breakdown, a child’s tea party. 

“I’m not happy to see you, you know.” The voice was high pitched, small, yet still commanded Bierce’s attention. Bierce’s hands balled at cream material of her dress, her eyes closing as she listened to the hurt in the other’s voice. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to be. I... Don’t know why I’m here.” Bierce tried, hoping that this was a nightmare, hoping that it would be over quickly. Maybe Ramona would wake her from her thrashing. Maybe the glare from the sun would soon rouse her from the dread that her past had to offer. 

“I don’t know why I'm here, either.” The voice responded, though, this statement evidently meant much more in the wording the voice offered. “I’m not s’possed to be dead yet. That’s what everyone tells me.” 

“... I’ve no words to offer you, aside from the fact that I’m trying to fix it.” Bierce retorted, finally looking up to meet the voice’s gaze. The little girl that sat on the other side of the intricately decorated table looked back at her with an icy glare, as cold as a seven-year-old could. Unruly, long brown hair framing her round cheeks as she grimaced. The dress was familiar. She had seen the child wear on occasion in the garden. Fixed with careful patchwork by her mother. Bierce found herself needing to look back down after a moment of taking this in. It felt as if her bones were attempting to claw their way out of her body as if her brain were about to explode and drip from her nostrils. Malak had shown her this. 

“Fix it?” The child asked, cocking her head to the side. “How? You’re not close. You’re cold, never getting warmer.” The child seemed to be referring to the ring, and how she understood this concept was beyond Bierce. “You can’t look at me because I make you sad. But, you did it on purpose. You put me here.” 

“I’m going to fix it,” Bierce repeated, her eyes now shut vice tight, her hands reaching up to clutch at her platinum locks. “I will fix this.” 

“Malak told me something.” The child spoke quickly, Bierce’s eyes immediately shooting open. Malak had conversations with the child? Malak could convene with those sacrificed to him? Had... Did he doom this child to an afterlife of torment atop of murdering her? 

“What did he tell you?” Bierce asked, her curiosity burning in the back of her throat, though it could just be bile as her body threatened to reject the contents of her stomach. 

“You have some new friends. They’re trying to help you make a mistake. Soon, they’re going to be here with me, and I’ll have some friends again. Because you took all of my own friends away.” The child was truly driving the point home. 

“No... You don’t mean that... He’s going to harm them, is he?” Bierce looked up, and the stuffed animals had been replaced by their respective human counterparts. Norman and Rosemary to her left, Ramona and Ben to her right. They stared at her with all the emotion their previously glassy eyes had conveyed, an indifference. “No. He’s no reason to harm them. They’ve done nothing to him, nothing to you.” Bierce reasoned to herself, sucking a breath deep into her lungs, before taking another look at the child. 

Bloodied, draped in white bedsheets and a nightgown. She was now standing at the other end of the table, Bierce froze as she looked at what she had done. Bierce averted her gaze after a moment, her eyes shutting tightly again. 

“Look at me.” The child spoke, voice demanding, as she had every right to be in Bierce’s mind. However, she could not bring herself to look up. “LOOK AT ME.” The child shrieked, the anger and hatred she felt for Bierce easily felt through Bierce’s ears as she opened her eyes again. The friends that had been sat around the table had been as grotesquely mutilated as the girl had been during the sacrifice. Bierce let out an audible gasp as she looked around, feeling as if she could sink into the floor of the plane they existed on. Bierce breathed again, staring intently at her victim, the tears rolling silently down her face. 

“I’m... I am going to fix it.” Bierce’s voice was smaller than before, but she was still certain that she would set this right. Her nails had dug into the palms of her hands so hard that she had begun to draw blood, her entire body quaking as she sat in the chair. 

“You’re a pathetic woman, Helen Bierce. Why you value this child’s wellbeing after murdering her is beyond me.” The child had been replaced by Malak, who now sat at the other end of the table, contrasting the child-friendly visage of the tea party. 

“I may be pathetic, but I am going to fix it!” Bierce screamed back at him, trying to keep him from getting inside of her head too much. She needed to be strong, or none of this would matter. This pain would be for nothing if she did not fix it. 

“You’ve four years left. You could be fulfilling your desires, yet you wallow in your self-pity for this despicable act you’ve committed. No pleasure derived from it at all, from your fame that you sacrificed everything to get. You’ll rot in one of the deepest pits of hell for what you’ve done, and you’ve no good memories to even account for it.” Malak laughed, his hands resting on the table, the now-dead friends of Bierce that sat around the table slumping over, pale and lifeless. “Surrounding yourself with other mortals that offer you support, though they never saw the horror you inflicted. You’re a monster the same as me, Helen Bierce. They will suffer because of it.” 

Bierce felt a high-pitched tone resonate through her brain, holding her head in her hands. It was overstimulating in every sense of the word, in the absolute worst way possible. She just screamed, holding her head, curling her knees into her chest on the chair, the tears having turned into anger at the demon. 

“I. Will. Fix it.” Bierce managed after a particularly throat tearing scream, her eyes glaring over to the demon. He did not look surprised by this, he simply dismissed her, everything around her being reduced to nothing but ash as she was left to sit in an amalgamation of memories turned to nothing but pain, surrounded by the bodies of her friends. 

Bierce awoke, having been propped up against the wall by Rosemary as she checked her over. Bierce reached up to her cheek, her fingers unsteady. Aside from a little bit of a gash in her cheek from where the skin had grazed the rough floor, Bierce was unscathed physically, just a little bit of rust-coloured blood. Her mental health, on the other hand, that was a discussion for all of them to have together. Bierce had been the last to wake, everyone else stared expectedly at the woman, Bierce feeling her blank stare bore back at them. 

“Did Malak take you into a nightmare, too?” Rosemary asked, the expression on her face looking to be one of fear, Bierce staring back with the growing realization of what she had witnessed. They were lucky that nobody else was in the church to see them in such a dishevelled state, Bierce particularly shaken from what she had seen. 

Bierce had seen Madeline’s face. It had been years, as all her violent flashbacks had involved the girl cloaked in the bedsheets she had been wrapped in the night of the sacrifice. Not even brave enough to see the one she had killed, only holding, only regretting. She could never look. But she had now seen the pained expression, she had seen more of the pain she had caused in a light she had never seen outside of her imagination. An image of innocence, of everything she had taken away. An image of what she could take away from her compatriots if things went too far south. She could feel her expression morph into one of terror as she looked at all of them, something she knew that only Ramona had seen in the past. 

“... Bierce?” Rosemary asked, in a similar, vulnerable state. Though she had not been as rattled as Bierce, and Bierce could see the concern growing on Rosemary’s face. “... Helen?” 

Bierce simply stared, an internal dialogue running through her. She had been very aware of what she had done, she had mourned, and she was working to fix it all. The reminder had cut through her like a hot knife through butter, melting her into a puddle of absolute horror. Ramona moved Rosemary off to the side, and Bierce watched as she crouched in front of her. Ramona’s eyes painted a picture of the horror she had seen herself, and they both sat in another silent understanding as Bierce gathered herself. Bierce’s eyes glanced at the others, who seemed to be attempting to deal with what they had experienced. She exhaled loudly through her nose, sending a few of the jitters out with the air. 

“I’m... Fine. It will take more to bring me down for good. Are you four... Alright? You seem as if you’ve seen ghosts, and... Well, you likely did. He does that from time to time.” Bierce’s voice took a cooler tone, emulating her normal demeanour. She wanted to bring the lot of them back to their regular personalities, instead of the lost people she saw before her. The tired eyes, the emotionally drained individuals, now that Bierce took a closer look. 

“Fine,” Rosemary replied, though her gaze flitted down, seemingly unable to meet Bierce’s gaze. Bierce looked to Norman, who simply cleared his throat in response, looking uncomfortable. 

“I just hope we don’t have another encounter that close. I’m still wondering why he was even here, why he chose now...” Norman spoke, looking wistfully at the stained-glass windows, avoiding looking at the others. 

Bierce, then looked to Ben. He was pale, his eyes dark, looking like the lost lamb he had been compared to in her own nightmare. After Bierce saw his eyes meet her own, he immediately turned away, crossing his arms over his chest, becoming smaller. Bierce knew something was off, as Ben was never one to pass up an opportunity to try and explain a phenomenon. Now, Bierce could not even get him to look her in the eye. 

Bierce turned last to Ramona. She seemed to meet Bierce’s gaze with ease, though uneasily. Bierce wanted to reach out for comfort, for affection, for validation that she still deserved to be breathing. But, she could not at the moment. All they could do was silently express their unease. All Bierce could do was exist at this moment, in a world where it was likely she would hurt people that she had grown to care about. 

“... What did you see?” Bierce’s words came quickly before she even knew she had brought them to life. Her exhausted eyes widened as she realized what she had asked Ramona, knowing that she would not like to be asked the same thing. 

Ramona seemed unnerved, looking from Bierce as well, standing back up to her full height. It seemed to take a moment before she could extend a hand to Bierce to help her stand as well as if something was causing her hesitation. 

“Nothing I’ve not seen before,” Ramona dismissed, though her gaze was still cast away, even as Bierce rose. “Coming here was a mistake, I’m sure. Modern-day Christianity has nothing to do with Malak in my opinion.” She had become all business once more, letting go of Bierce’s hand, Bierce left severed from her in a moment she selfishly needed comfort. Likely in a moment that Ramona needed comfort, too. 

“Let’s go. Someone’s going to notice the five strangers passing out in the church.” Norman quickly took over the situation, though, as they all brushed themselves off and began to leave, Bierce noticed something off. Something that she was sure had not been there when they had entered, though, she was not too sure of anything anymore. 

Bierce wanted to maintain her composure, but it was difficult with the stuffed rabbit that sat in one of the pews. It was unassuming as if a child had forgotten it after mass. Though, it had to be the same one from her nightmare. Malak had to have planted it there, leaving it for her to find, and drag her back down once more. The glint of silver metal sitting on its lap, the long blade of a knife, like the ones she would have in the kitchen at home. Identical. Sharp, precise. Was this the knife she had used? She believed herself to have memorized every moment of the sacrifice. Now all she could focus on was Madeline, not the intricate, ornate details of the handle of the knife. 

Bierce quickly turned her head away after her fears were confirmed, quaking as if she were fault line, forcing herself to take another step. Toward the exit. 

“It was a good try.” Bierce forced herself to say, not wanting to fall into despair. She needed to keep up with the web she had created around herself, with the four members of her team. “Malak gave us all... Useful information, in a sense.” Bierce was never an optimist, but it was all she could do at this moment to avoid breaking down. A far cry from the woman who had a tantrum in the caves in Tibet. 

Ben gave her a look. It seemed to express gratitude, but the man looked as if he were unable to smile. Bierce took a visual stock of the rest of them, looking back at the rabbit once more. She refused to draw attention to it. She refused to acknowledge what he had shown her. It was too much for her racing mind to handle. She simply witnessed it existing, and kept it to herself, knowing that Malak’s presence in her life was growing ever stronger during their search for the Riddle of Heaven. 

Now Malak could materialize items on Bierce’s plane of existence to toy with her. Now he could toy with her friends as he saw fit. Bierce's fists clenched together as they entered the afternoon sun, a surprisingly nice day despite their demon encounter. She was furious, and she was dead set in proving Malak wrong. 

Bierce was going to fix it. She was going to make things right. The outcome she reached for included long, happy lives for Ramona, Ben, Rosemary, Norman and... Madeline. 

Even if that meant an eternal tea party of suffering for Bierce. Even if Malak held her in these feelings forever. Bierce would fix this. She needed to fix this. Otherwise, there could be dire ramifications, as she had seen in Malak’s little vision.


	13. Maybe it was just the gin talking.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bierce experiences regret and possible alcohol poisoning on a regular basis.

A familiar scene, the downtrodden group of five walked into their hotel. Bierce quickly split from the group, walking up to her room in silence. She felt contemplative, inside her own mind, and she would not be great conversation material in this state. Aside from contemplative, she also felt as if she needed a stiff drink. Though it was not a good idea when she got into a funk, it called to Bierce. Seeing the ghost of a child whose death you caused was certainly a good reason to start drinking. It was an activity she took solace in, and she thought that falling off the wagon occasionally was better than being an insufferable bitch, trapped in her own mind.

However, as she drank down the bottle of amber coloured liquor, Bierce was not her usual drunk self. It was more of a quiet, self-reflective experience. Bierce wanted to laugh herself into a stupor alone in her bed, forget about all she had seen in the church. Instead of that, of course, she was left thinking of nothing but the vision both Malak and Madeline had saddled her with. Bierce leant against the headboard, watching the fluid in the bottle slosh back and forth with the subtle movements; listening to the soft noises it made. She remembered the crimson that coated her hands, her blouse, her face. How both fluids behaved so similarly.

Though, Bierce’s hands bathed in alcohol would be a more welcomed sight than the blood that she had seen. Even if it meant a waste of good Gin. Bierce looked toward the door, wondering what the others had seen, wondering if they thought any differently now because of what they may have seen. The lost look in Ben’s eyes, the quietness of Norman. Bierce felt the pit of fear growing in her stomach, though she would never admit it to herself. That would be admitting her own weakness, and Bierce did not want to view herself as weak.

The room felt so big and so small. The fresh, cream coloured linens on the bed threatened to swallow Bierce. It seemed almost easier to sink in and let the complex feelings in her mind take her, easier to let go of her grip on this reality and fall into Malak’s. She deserved it, did she not? She deserved every second of this hellish adventure, she deserved every vision of who she had hurt. Though, the fact that she deserved it did not take away from how painful it was, the storm that brewed inside of her ribcage and spread in a complicated weather system to her brain.

Alcohol. It solved Bierce’s problems most of the time, or at least, caused other problems to distract from the bigger ones. She had secluded herself from the remainder of the group, not allowing them to see her sad state. Though a couple of them had before, it was different this time. The lot of them were discouraged, the lot of them had likely seen some disturbing things. To show them that she was cracking into something deeper than a temper tantrum would likely demoralize them further. So, Bierce drank. It was a nice, fancy bottle of something. She did not care what it was anymore, it could be rubbing alcohol if it was going to make this night bearable.

Tomorrow would be easier. Bierce would still feel the regret, eating away at her. But she would be able to fight it off slightly, or, she was sure she could. Tonight, she needed to self-medicate. She needed answers to the questions she asked herself, answers to how she went so wrong. Those answers were all at the bottom of this bottle.

Bierce had not even bothered to change into nightclothes. It was, of course, only mid-afternoon. However, she felt as if she could fall asleep for days on end right now. She was beyond exhausted by the day’s experience, and likely would have let slumber drag her in if there was not a curt knock at the door. Bierce looked up to the door lazily, already feeling the lapping waves of warmth from the booze permeate through her veins.

“Come in. It is open.” Bierce called, just loud enough to be audible through the solid wood door.

The creaking cried out to her, Bierce turning onto her side as she looked to Ramona, who stood in the doorframe.

“God, we had such a good streak, did we not?” Bierce slurred slightly, eyes half-lidded as she turned her attention away. “Of you not finding me sprawled out, drunk in a hotel room. We managed to go a few weeks, right? How long has… It been, really?” Bierce asked aloud, though, she did not expect Ramona to answer that question.

Ramona walked over to Bierce, sitting on the edge of the bed by Bierce’s feet, giving her a look that Bierce could only describe as tired.

“What?” Bierce asked, her bottom lip coming up in a dramatized pout, “Silent treatment? Then, why did you come to see me?”

“I’m worried about you. If that demon played a trick on you like he played on me, then you’re probably… Well. You are obviously upset.” Ramona started, her gaze serious, yet, soft in a concerned way.

“Why would you worry about me? Not much else can be done to hurt me. Not after all the pain I’ve caused. Not after I’ve roped all four of you into it. All that’s left to do is die and accept my fate. Tell Madeline that I am sorry that I was unable to correct my mistakes.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to get you out of this mess. I…” Ramona sighed, looking over her shoulder for a moment. “I know it’s hard to see anything else right now. I know you need to time to process what we’ve seen. I’m… Here to talk? If you need to talk, I guess?” Ramona tried, though Bierce could tell in her uncertain voice that Ramona was trying anything to get her out of her lowest points.

“What’s there to talk about? The ghosts of my past and present came to life in the form of friendly teddies and then bled all over the floor while the child I murdered screamed at me.” Bierce said, attempting to be nonchalant in the beginning, but failing as her voice wavered at the end.

“Well,” Ramona seemed somewhat surprised at this, “Seems… Intense. Sorry to hear that.” Ramona scooted up, resting a hand on Bierce’s shoulder. Though she sat on the edge of the bed, Bierce moved to curl around her, wanting to be close. Like a lizard needing to lay in the hot sun to digest their food, Bierce needed to curl up against Ramona to digest the day’s events. It was not even past dinnertime and she still felt the need to turn in already.

“If you are inclined to share, what did he show you? Something in a similar vein? If it’s too difficult… Don’t worry. I don’t want to… I hate seeing you frown if I’m honest.” Bierce admitted softly, her head now laying in Ramona’s lap. “It’s only fair, I guess.” Ramona retorted, Bierce feeling Ramona’s careful digits curl into her platinum tendrils of hair. Bierce enjoyed the sensation.

“Ghosts of the past, same for me. My parents. Not like he could fool me, but… It still hurts. To know he’d try to use that against me.” Ramona’s face had fallen, and Bierce reached up to gently brush her thumb against Ramona’s cheek.

“It’s not fair at all for him to do that. It wasn’t fair for me to bring you into this. Or any of the others. I think we should just…” Bierce closed her eyes in concentration, a sigh escaping her between her words. “Let’s go home. I’ll find other projects for you to work on for me, and we can spend my last years on this earth… Together.”

Bierce could tell from the shock on Ramona’s face that she did not think this was a good idea.

“Helen!” Ramona said, giving her a look of dismay, and Bierce frowned once more at that. “We cannot let all of the work we’ve done be for nothing. We can’t… You’ve got many years to be in the limelight after we find the Riddle of Heaven. Many more years than the paltry amount we’ll get should you give in now!”

Bierce felt herself shrink under Ramona’s words, and found herself nodding quickly afterward as a child scorned. A silence fell over the room for a moment, Bierce still mulling over Ramona’s words.

“… You really want to spend the last bit of your time with me?” Ramona asked, sounding a little skeptical.

“Of course I do…” Bierce started, realizing that she may sound as if she were slurring. She had been drinking. “Well. I know I… I am drunk. When am I not? But… I don’t know, you make me feel sunshine-like on the inside. My ribcage wants to explode out in a thousand yellow butterfly wings when you hold both my hands or play with my hair.”

This caused Ramona to pause, and Bierce became afraid that she had said too much. She immediately regretted expressing her true feelings. Two women? Very, very not okay. They could never be together, it would never work, not with her in the public eye. It would just come down on Ramona. Though, Ramona, instead, leant down to Bierce’s level, taking her by surprise as they kissed again.

It never went away, the feeling that Bierce experienced when they kissed. Every time they kissed, Bierce felt it in her chest, radiating through her abdomen, up and down her spine. It felt safe. As if she were home for the first time in her life. It was a short-lived kiss, though Bierce had closed her eyes and held on to the feeling as long as she could. The softness of Ramona’s lips, so much different than the roughness that she had felt with others.

“… Are you going to be sober enough in an hour to join the rest of us for dinner, or, should I just stay up here and babysit you while the rest of them have fun?” Ramona asked Bierce, who was unsure of how to respond.

“Could you… Stay with me until then and we’ll check how I feel?” Bierce asked, looking up to Ramona with eyes shining. Ramona with a halo of light from the ceiling lamp around her was angelic, gorgeous, ethereal. How could Bierce not be head over heels for her?

“Wow. Playing babysitter again, then. Thanks a lot, Bierce.” Ramona laughed, Bierce understanding that she was joking. Bierce sat up, now settling into the crook of Ramona’s neck, drinking in her scent. She stared blankly at the wall, a complacent smile on her face as she did.

“It’s what I do best. Rope you into things you don’t know you want to do.” Bierce chided, looking up into Ramona’s eyes before pressing a few kisses along her jaw. Bierce’s lips were just a little clumsy, but her mind was crystal clear despite the alcohol intake. She knew what she was required to do. She had to find the Riddle of Heaven. She had to give Madeline that second chance at life, after having taken the first from her so mercilessly. But, while they took that adventure? Priority number two was Ramona.

Maybe it was to make up for the time in Bierce’s life she had been lying to herself. Maybe falling in love with the first woman she spent extended time with was also not the healthiest. But Bierce did not care. She was dying, every second she spent alive was one lost forever at this point. She did not even know whether or not she could save both herself and Madeline. So, what better way to spend every single last second than to be in Ramona’s arms? This train of thought consumed Bierce, and she only found herself snapping out of it once Ramona hummed to her, brushing a wayward snarl of hair from Bierce’s face.

Once they kissed again, Bierce felt the feeling of familiarity once more, and the memories of the afternoon’s horrors left her mind, even if for just a little while.


End file.
